Always and Forever
by Anawey
Summary: In Kay’s book, what if Erik hadn’t died, and Christine had been able to stay with him?
1. As it Should Be

Always and Forever

In Kay's book, what if Erik _hadn't _died, and Christine had been able to stay with him?

Disclaimer: I only own Arilda, and Arabelle, Phillipe, and Zarifa, who will be seen later in the story.

As It Should Be  
XxX

Christine smiled slightly, and scooped Ayesha into her arms. The little cat growled softly, worried, rather than angry. She wanted to stay with her master, to curl beside him, and impart what little warmth her small body could, like she had other times when he was hurting. She wanted to help.

But Christine did not let her go. Much as Ayesha meant well, the feline would more than likely wake Erik, and he desperately needed his rest if he was to survive. Their love-making only an hour ago had spent the majority of what little energy he'd had left.

Nadir looked up when Christine walked out of the bedroom with Ayesha, and his eyes turned sad.

"He is gone, then?" the Persian asked softly, sorrow in his heart. His friend had deserved so much more than he'd gotten.

Raoul made to move from where he stood by the fireplace, but stopped when Christine shook her head, smiling slightly.

"Erik is resting, Nadir," she said quietly. "God willing, he'll live."

"Without you, mademoiselle," Nadir replied. "I doubt he would want to."

Christine shook her head, a slightly scandalized look on her face.

"I couldn't leave him!" she gasped. "Not now! I've hurt him so much! I will stay with him. I love him."

"Christine, you can't mean that!" Raoul whispered, shocked and hurt.

Christine looked into his eyes, and sighed sadly.

"I _do, _Raoul," she said softly. "I love Erik. Oh, I love you, too, of course, dear Raoul. But not as I love Erik."

Raoul shook his head, then wrapped his arms tightly around Christine.

"As soon as he dies," the viscount instructed, "write to me, and I will come for you. Then we will be married."

Christine shook her head, pulling back.

"Dear Raoul," she sighed. "I _love _him. I don't want him to die. Erik must _live, _Raoul. And I will be at his side." The young soprano hugged her childhood friend, then; her one-time sweetheart. "Take care, Raoul. Take care, and goodbye. I only hope it is not forever."

"It won't be," Raoul promised. "I will wait for you, Christine, love. I will wait for as long as I must."

Christine pulled away swiftly, tears welling in her eyes as she shook her head.

"No, Raoul!" she pleaded. "You must find someone who will love you; who _can _love you with all their heart and soul. Find someone who can belong to you completely, with no one else who holds her true love. Find someone worthy of you, my sweet Raoul."

Tears stung Raoul's eyes, but when Nadir stepped forward to lead him away, the viscount did not protest. He did not like the thought of leaving Christine alone with a monster like Erik, but he could not force Christine away. She'd realize the truth herself, in time.

But Raoul didn't understand. He could not grasp the concept of Christine's love for Erik. He had never seen how gentle Erik could be with Christine, how the young soprano was never afraid for herself, only others', when Erik was angry.

The moment Nadir and Raoul left the house, Christine returned to her room, and Erik. She sat on the edge of the bed, and took his hand, gently smoothing back his hair.

Erik's eyes flickered opened slowly, and rolled over to Christine's form sitting beside him. His vision was slightly blurred from pain and exhaustion, but he could still see her face, and she was smiling warmly at him.

He moved to sit up, but hissed when a stab of pain flashed though his chest. Christine gasped, then gently pushed him back down against the pillows, pulling the blankets up over his shoulders.

"You must rest, love," she soothed, stroking his forehead. "You are still ill. I will be here when you wake up. Sleep, now."

"Sing?" Erik requested hoarsely. Christine's smile widened, and she leaned down to gently kiss his lips.

"Of course," she breathed, breaking into a quiet song.

"_I will make you broaches,_

_and toys for your delight,_

_of bird-song at morning,_

_and star-shine at night._

_I will build a palace, _

_fit for you and me._

_Of green days in forests,_

_and blue days at sea."_

As she started the chorus, a tiny smile spread over Erik's lips.

"Mmmmph, music....." he whispered, barely awake. " 's nice...."

Christine smiled brightly, and continued to sing, still stroking his hair.

"_And this shall be for music_

_when no on else is near._

_The fine song for singing,_

_the rare to hear._

_That only I remember,_

_that only you admire._

_Of the broad road before us,_

_and the roadside fire._

_I will bring you gifts of gold_

_with the autumn leaves,_

_precious gems and treasure troves,_

_with the buds of spring._

_And this shall be for music_

_when no one else is near._

_The fine song, for singing,_

_the rare song to hear._

_That only I remember,_

_that only you admire._

_Of the broad rode before us,_

_and the roadside fire._

_This shall be_

_for music..."_

Tenderly, careful not to wake him, Christine kissed his forehead. It was slightly warm, and she worried; it would do him no good to get sick now. In fact, it could kill him.

Standing, she crossed to the bathroom, and wet a washcloth, then returned to Erik's side, and placed the compress on his forehead.

In his sleep, Erik shifted, frowning as a slight shiver traveled through him from the cold cloth, but then he smiled as it soothed his temperature, and he muttered Christine's name faintly.

Smiling fondly, Christine stroked his hair back one last time, then walked back out into the sitting room to wait for Nadir. He'd be back soon, certainly, and she could ask him then how to make Erik's tea. She chided herself for having never thought to ask Erik about it before. But it couldn't be helped.

Just as she sat down, the front door opened, and Nadir stepped in. Jumping up again, she quickly made her way over to the daroga, Erik's long-time friend.

"How is he?" Nadir asked with a quiet dread, as though expecting Erik only to have lasted through the morning to die in the early after noon.

"Erik is still asleep," Christine answered. "I was wondering, Nadir, if you might be able to show me how to make that tea of his that helps this?"

Nadir nodded, smiling.

"Of course, mademoiselle."

Nadir led Christine into the kitchen to teach her to prepare Erik's tea for if ever the Persian wasn't around.

Nadir gathered the ingredients from around the kitchen, and brought them together on one counter space, then grabbed a teapot, and filled it with water.

"You see how I do it?" he asked Christine, adding the first of the ingredients. "It's much stronger in this order. That way, the chemicals in the ingredients have a better chance of fusing. Makes it stronger."

Christine smiled gratefully, and when the tea was ready, she took a cup of it, and returned to Erik's room.

Perching lightly on the edge of the bed, Christine gently shook Erik's shoulder. He groaned, turning away. Christine frowned, and tried a bit harder.

"Erik," she called gently. "Wake up, now. Pleae. Wake up, Erik."

At last, Erik's gold eyes flickered open, and he looked up at Christine bemusedly.

"Y-you're still here?"

Christine frowned.

"I said I would be, my Erik," she reminded him lightly. "How are you feeling?"

Erik groaned, closing his eyes.

"Tired," he muttered wryly. He tried to sit up, but gasped when a bolt of pain hit him, and he fell back against the pillows, eyes shut, breath unsteady.

Christine cringed, and reached for him, tenderly pulling him into her arms as she set the teacup down on the nightstand. After a moment, she pulled back, so that she was supporting his shoulders with one arm, and picked the cup back up.

"You need to drink this, love," she said softly. "Here." Christine tilted the cup against his lips, pouring the warm liquid into his mouth, and giving Erik an encouraging smile when he swallowed.

After a moment, he turned his head and coughed, half-choking on the tea. Christine gently pounded his back until he could breathe again.

When he stopped coughing, Erik pressed a hand against his chest in pain, whimpering weakly.

Christine held him in her arms, stroking his back as he gasped for breath.

"Stay calm, Erik," she whispered soothingly. "I'm here. And I will stay here."

Erik's breath remained laboured, and he kept a hand pressed over his spasming heart.

"Erik?" Christine asked worriedly. "Do you need your medicine? Nadir!" she called, worried about leaving Erik herself. Nadir's head poked through the door a moment later.

"What is it?" he asked, looking from Christine to Erik.

Christine looked imploringly at Nadir, eyes starting to tear.

"Erik needs his medicine, but I don't know where it is. Can you get it for me, please Nadir?"

The Persian nodded, eyes flickering to a shaking, panting Erik with concern, and left the room, returning a moment later with a little vial of liquid.

"Make sure he drinks all of it," the daroga instructed. Christine nodded, and uncorked the bottle, pressing the rim to Erik's pale lips. Erik's hand came up and took the bottle from Christine. He tilted his head far back, swallowing it all, then collapsing against Christine, gasping and panting. But at least the sharpe ache in his chest was fading finally. Maybe he'd survive, now that he had Christine with him.

"C-christine," Erik whispered tiredly. "H-how long... will you s-stay?"

Christine smiled down at Erik, gently stroking his cheek.

"Always and forever, if you wish," she replied, bending forward to press her lips gently to Erik's. Erik responded by wrapping his arms around her neck, and pulling her down next to him on the bed, deepening the kiss, and growing passionate.

Christine pulled away at once, tucking a stray strand of Erik's hair, and rested her hand on Erik's cheek.

"Not yet, love," she sighed. "Not again, until you are well. You must rest."

Erik shook his head.

"I cannot die...." he replied. "N-not with you... here."

He tried to sit up, and pull her to him, but Christine pushed him back down, then lay beside him, pulling the blankets over them both.

"Go to sleep, Erik, love," she crooned, pulling him into her arms. "I will be here when you wake. I promise."

Erik nodded tiredly, weakly, eyes sliding closed almost instantly. Christine smiled, and let sleep take over her, too.

She woke some time later, feeling cold. Reaching out for Erik, she snapped fully awake when she felt only sheets. Gasping, she bolted up, and looked around.

Erik was curled in around himself as tightly as he could, trembling, at the edge of the bed. Christine reached out and gently touched his shoulder. His skin was burning.

Erik started when Christine touched him, then yanked back. _Oh, God! _he thought desperately, cloudy mind instantly locking onto the fact that he wasn't wearing his mask. His hands flew to cover his face, and he curled up even tighter.

"M-my mask!" he gasped, sounding frightened and desperate. "Christine, my mask! D-don't look -"

"Erik, hush," Christine said firmly, pulling his hands away from his face, and pulling him into her arms. "I am simply concerned. You're feverish." Gently, she laid him down and pulled the blankets over him, then kissed his forehead.

Erik frowned when she stood up, reaching for her, and weakly grasping her wrist.

"Christine, where....?"

"It's alright, Erik," she assured him. "I'm not leaving. I'm just getting a cloth from the bathroom to help your fever. I'll be back in a moment, I promise."

Erik nodded tiredly, letting Christine go, and watching through heavy eyes as she went into the washroom.

By the time Christine returned, Erik was asleep once more. She realized that, until he regained some of his strength, he was not likely to be able to do much. She'd seen how even staying awake for any length of time exhausted him. With a fever now, as well, she would have to be extra careful to keep Erik calm and still.

Smiling sadly, Christine pressed the compress to his forehead, then walked out of the room to the drawing room, looking for the time. It was nearly dawn. Sighing, the soprano wandered back into the room with Erik, sitting beside him, and holding his hand.

Ayesha wandered into the room then, glaring at Christine. But when the woman made no move to shoo away the cat, the little Siamese jumped onto the bed, and curled up next to Erik, her small head on his chest, purring softly.

Christine smiled, and reached out to pet her. Ayesha regarded Christine's hand warily, but did not move, for Erik's sake. She knew he needed to sleep. That had always helped her master before when he was hurting.

But when Christine scratched behind her ears, Ayesha melted. She purred happily; that was her favorite spot to be scratched.

-

-

Hours later, Erik woke to a pleasant warmth beside him, and a weight on his stomach. Opening his eyes, he saw Ayesha, sleeping on his abdomen, and when he turned his head, he was met with a bunch of curling brown hair right in his face. He frowned involuntarily, and turned away from the tickling strands.

Then he realized who it was that was lying there next to him.

"Christine?" he whispered, voice surprisingly hoarse. He hardly remembered anything recent. What was the last thing he could see clearly? Oh, yes. That last attack that had nearly killed him. Nadir had been there. He'd gotten Erik into bed, and after that, he couldn't remember much of anything. Which was why Christine's presences both surprised and confused him.

Christine's eyes snapped open at Erik's quiet voice, and she looked worriedly into his eyes. Erik realized absently that he wasn't wearing his mask. But it didn't bother him. He knew it should, but for some reason, he felt something had happened, something he couldn't remember, that had taken away his fear of letting Christine see him.

"Erik? What is it? Are you alright?" She reached up worriedly, and touched his forehead, finding it cool as usual. The fever was gone, thank Heaven. She pulled him against her chest, smiling in relief. "Thank God," she breathed.

"Christine?"

Christine smiled fondly down at him. "Don't you remember, love? You were quite feverish in the night. I was worried."

Erik blinked as memories of the previous two days returned; Christine ariving at his bedside as he lay dying, her saying she would be his wife while he lived, their, ah, _intimate _moment, and now, this morning, waking up with her hair in his face. Erik smiled.

"Christine....."

He curled in closer to her, hiding his face in her neck, and weakly wrapping his arms around her waist. Though he felt much better than the previous day, he still felt weak, and drained. It was a bit difficult, still, to move his left arm without pain, and there was just the slightest, dying ache in his chest.

"Erik?" Christine asked, as she ran her hands gently through his hair. "Do you think you can sit in the drawing room with me? I don't want you so far away when I go to make breakfast."

Erik thought. He was sure it would hurt, but he could certainly make it, with minimal moving of his left side.

"Of course," he replied with a light smile. Christine helped him up, and he hissed in pain, but refused the suggestion of staying in bed. If it would ease her conscience, he would gladly be closer to her.

Christine supported his halting, shuffling steps to a chair near the fireplace, and she wrapped a thick quilt around him before kneeling to light the fire. When she was done, she returned to Erik long enough to stroke his cheek, then kiss his forehead before she left for the kitchen to make them breakfast, and some of Erik's Russian tea.

She sat on the floor when she returned, pushing the footstool under his feet to make him more comfortable, and pressed a plate into his hands. They were colder than usual, and trembling slightly.

"Erik?" Christine asked, concerned. "Are you feeling alright?"

Erik nodded shakily.

"Just, just tired," he assured quietly.

Christine nodded, and settled herself on the floor beside his chair, smiling at the familiar feeling. If she closed her eyes, she could almost hear him reading a story as she sat at his feet, before she'd so rudely removed his mask and caused him so much pain.

Ayesha wandered into the room, and jumped into Erik's lap, giving him a worried look, and a quiet meow as she gently nudged his chest. Chuckling lightly, he stroked down her back, then rubbed her behind her ears. The little Siamese purred contentedly as she curled up on his lap, happy that her master was out of bed (Ayesha always worried about him, in her kitty-cat way).

Christine leaned her head against his leg, smiling when she felt his hand rest against her head. It moved away when Erik went to pick up his tea, and take a drink. He smiled softly at Christine's thoughtfullness. And Nadir's foresight for showing her.

"Christine?"

Christine turned to look up at Erik, patienly waiting for him to continue. Erik smiled again, and gently cupped her face.

"Thank you, Christine," he whispered. "I don't know what I'd be doing right now without you."

Christine opted to take his words as just sentimentality, despite the slight tremor, and the obvious exhaustion in his voice.

For the rest of that day, they simply sat together, Christine on the floor, her head on Erik's knee, his left hand in her hair, and his right on Ayesha's lithe back.

The fire crackled in the fireplace all that morning, and when noon-time came, Christine made them lunch, and more tea. Erik showed his appreciation with a soft smile - the only way he was really good at, as it was always difficult for him to express his feelings with words.

"Christine," Erik muttered at one point, stroking Christine's hair. "I love you so." His voice became choked as emotions suddenly, and uncharacteristically, took over him, and Christine turned so that she was facing him. He leaned forward, slipping from the chair and clinging to her, as tears rolled down his face. "Stay with me..." he begged weakly, breathing unsteady as he cried. "N-never leave..."

Christine held him close in her arms, realizing that the suddeness of his emotions was from his illness. She pressed his head to her chest, holding him on her lap, and rocking gently back and forth.

"Shhh, my love," she crooned. "I will never leave you. I love you, Erik. I promise I will always be with you." She cradled him gingerly, stroking his hair, hoping to calm him. "And as soon as you are well, we can make the wedding official, and we will live together, like any other normal couple. As you've always wanted. As it should be."

Erik eventually calmed, and lay shaking in Christine's arms. The soprano hummed softly, as she rubbed his back, and ran her fingers through his hair until he fell asleep.

Even in his condition, Erik was too heavy for Christine to lift, so she leaned back against the chair, and held him close as she, too, fell asleep.

XxX  
Chapter one done! Lord, I'm falling into the same pattern with Phantom as I did with Avatar; starting more stories than I can finish. Oh well. I'm sure they'll all get done someday. I hope you liked this, anyway, and review, please!


	2. Learning

Learning  
XxX

A few days after, Erik was able to move around a bit, without pain. He was still quite weak, and tired easily, but at least he was recovering. Christine watched him like a hawk, noticing worriedly that even the walk from her room to the drawing room - _with _Christine's help - still exhausted him. She worried constantly.

There had been no truly intimate moments beyond gentle kisses and tender touches, and Christine meant to keep it that way until Erik's strength and health returned. If he could barely make it to the drawing room, with her supporting him, she was quite certain his passion, which was fiery at the worst of times, would be too much for him. She certainly didn't want him to hurt himself.

They were in Christine's room, at the moment. Erik had been feeling a bit more tired than he had the last several days, and Christine was on edge because of it. If he had another attack now, she highly doubted he'd live. So she'd restricted him to the bed today, in hopes that the extra rest would help him recover faster.

"Christine," Erik whispered, holding her hand in his, and gently stroking the soft flesh of the back of her fingers. "I love you. I swear to God above, I love you. _Mon ange."_

His eyes were soft and pleading, and Christine leaned down to gently brush her lips over his. She had noticed, in the last three days, that they had begun to warm to what was almost normal body temperature. Perhaps their love was starting to chase away the cold darkness in his soul.

Smiling fondly, Christine cupped his face in her hand, thumb gently stroking the marred flesh of his hollow cheeks.

"And I love you, as well, my Erik," she cooed, moving her hand to stroke back his hair. "We'll always have each other, _mon amour._"

Erik blinked, then smiled his own lopsided smile. He yawned suddenly, rubbing at his eye to get rid of the sleepiness that had suddenly overtaken him.

"Go to sleep, love," Christine suggested, having seen Erik's tiredness. "I won't leave you. I'll never be far away, I promise."

Erik nodded sleepily, and let his eyes close.

As soon as his breathing evened out, Christine stood, and went to the kitchen to make herself a snack. She was reaching for a bit of meat when the alarms rang.

Christine all but ran to her room to check on Erik. He was still asleep. The alarms had not woken him. Sighing in relief, she went out the door to see who it was that had come down to them, though she could guess.

They hadn't seen him for almost a week, and Christine would be happy to see the man again. He was, after all, a good friend of Erik's.

As the boat reached the shore, Nadir smiled. He looked a little worried, though, when he saw that Christine was the one in the boat, and alone.

"Hello, Nadir," she smiled, still a bit unsure. Yes, she was happy to see someone who cared about her Erik, but she didn't really know the Persian that well.

"Mademoiselle," the daroga returned. "How has Erik been? He is recovering, yes?"

"Slowly," Christine replied softly, her eyes going a bit sad. "Certainly, but slowly. He's resting at the moment, but I am sure he would like it if you came over."

Nadir smiled, and got into the boat, extending a hand to Christine. She took it, and sat down, grabbing the oars and rowing for the opposite shore, and the house by the lake, with her Erik.

Christine walked through the door to quite a surprise; Erik was leaning against a wall, back to Nadir and Christine, hunched over. He hadn't heard them come in, that was clear.

"Dammit Christine," he hissed to himself in a quiet, pained rasp. "Y-you said you wouldn't l-leave me!"

Christine felt tears sting her eyes. _Why didn't I leave a note?!?! I should have left him a note!_

"Erik," she called softly, walking forward, and wrapping her arms around him to help him support his own weight. Erik started, and turned a hurt, betrayed glare to Christine.

"Y-you left," he accused, hardly noticing Nadir standing a little behind Christine. Christine shook her head, and held him close in a tight embrace.

"I didn't leave," she whispered. "I only went to see who had come to the lake. The alarms rang, and I didn't want to wake you." She pulled back enough to cup his face in her hands, and gently kissed his forehead. "I promised I wouldn't leave you, and I won't."

Erik broke then, and buried his face in Christine's neck as he cried, and quietly begged her to forgive him for jumping to conclusions.

"Calm down, Erik, dear," Christine whispered. "It's not good for you to get so upset in your condition. Just calm down. You did nothing wrong. I can see why you would think I'd left, waking up alone to find I was not anywhere in the house. _I _should be the one apologizing. I should have left you a note. But Nadir is here. Isn't that good?"

Erik looked over Christine's shoulder at his old friend, and smiled faintly.

"Hello, Erik," Nadir greeted with a smile. Still too upset to trust his voice not to crack embarrassingly, Erik just smiled. "How are you?" the Persian asked, kneeling beside Christine. Erik let out a wry little laugh.

"Better than when you last saw me, my friend," he replied, wincing. It wasn't quite an attack, but the pain meant he was close to it.

Christine pulled back, and helped him up, then supported his weight as she led him back to her room.

"Back to bed, now, my love," she whispered softly. "You must rest."

Once she had him settled beneath the blankets, she left to make some tea for the three of them. Erik, however, was, once again, asleep by the time she got back, so she and Nadir moved to the drawing room so they wouldn't wake him.

Nadir sighed after a moment, and smiled.

"It was very noble of you to choose to stay here with Erik," he praised. "But if you ever wish to go..."

"No," Christine replied simply. "I _love _Erik. Truly and of my own free will. I would never hurt him in such a way."

"I am glad to hear it," the Persian sighed. He was really starting to like this Christine.

"Erik mentioned once, that he met you in Persia," Christine muttered after a moment.

"Technically, it was in Russia," Nadir sighed, remembering how upset he'd been at having to leave Reza. "The Shah sent me to get him to build a new palace, but the Khanum monopolized his presence once she learned what he could do. He was her _mustafa, _magician, so to speak."

Christine nodded, but said nothing. She could see Nadir was holding back. Whether from pain that came with the memories, or because some moments were simply too horrible to recount, she didn't know. All she did know was that this was as close as she'd get to the truth without hearing it from Erik himself.

"But when he wasn't working on the Shah's new palace, or performing for the Khanum, Christine, he was with my Reza. Reza, my son, had been very ill for a long time. Erik, you could say, treated him like his own. He grew to love the boy. He made Reza some wonderful things. There was a music box he'd made once. Reza treasured it. Then Erik was poisoned, and the music box broke."

Christine watched Nadir take a slow breath, tears in his eyes. She felt the prickle of tears herself as she processed what the Persian had just told her. Erik had been poisoned. _My poor Erik, _she thought. _At least he survived. At least he lived so that we could meet._

"Reza cried for hours," the daroga continued softly. "He begged Erik to wake up, and to fix the music box - Erik always fixed whatever broke, especially for my Reza. Even though he was blind by that time, Reza seemed to know that Erik was still in danger." He pulled in a deep breath, shoulders shaking as the mentioned memories opened old wounds. "When I finally lost Reza, it was Erik who saw me through.

"Eventually, though, the Shah began to tire of Erik. He did not trust him, and wanted him dead." Again Nadir paused, looking incredibly sad. "I was supposed to kill him," he whispered, shaking his head. "Of course, how could I? After all that he'd done for me? I let him escape, made it seem as though he eluded me, though in reality I showed him the way to his freedom."

Sighing, he closed his eyes, and it seemed to Christine that his memories would always haunt him.

"I tried to follow him, learn where he went," Nadir wet on. "But I could find no word of him. I had completely lost his trail until I retired, and came to live in Paris. When I heard rumors of a ghost in the opera, who wore dress suites, and had a death's head, I was almost sure. I was not positive, until I came across one of his trap-doors. But enough about my life. That is not as important, and I have rambled far beyond the facts of what you mentioned. Yes, I met Erik long ago. He has told me how he met you, of course, but I never learned how you came to Paris, from Sweden, wasn't it?"

Christine nodded, and sipped her tea. "Yes. My father was a violinist. He was quite good, but poor. We traveled everywhere. My mother died when I was very small, and I cannot remember her. Father always told me I looked just like her.

"In time, we met an older woman and her husband, Monsieur and Madame Valerious. They took Father and I in, gave us a fine life. That is actually how I met ... Raoul." Christne paused for a moment as her mind turned to her old friend, and she re-realized the truth of her feelings, and just _how _she cared for him; as a brother. Not at all like the passionate, _powerful _love she felt for Erik. "We met when we were visiting Perros. My scarf blew out to sea, and Raoul ran out to get it back. He was a dear friend since, but that is all he'll ever be; a dear friend."

Nadir quietly released the breath he'd been holding unwittingly since Christine had mentioned the Viscount. Her words were good. He was sure she would never intentionally hurt Erik. He did not deserve that; not after all the other hurts he'd suffered.

"My father died when I was seven," Christine sighed. "After that, I came here, to the opera. I went into the ballet without my soul, for it had died with Father. It wasn't until I met Erik, actually, that I began to sing again. Oh, Nadir, Erik has taught me so much, given me so many things, made me who and what I am now, how could I _not _love him?!"

She turned her head away as tears fell.

"I only wish he would recover quicker. It's awful to see him so weak, and hurt. He's so much stronger than that, though. I suppose that's why it pains me to see him in any other way. I don't like it when he's hurting, Nadir, and yet, I've caused so much of his suffering.

"Did you know, when he first had me down here, I pulled off his mask? I did. And, oh, he was so _upset! _His eyes were filled with this hopeless, _betrayed _anger, and he was so furious. It was the first time I'd witnessed one of his attacks, and it was so terrible. He was in so much _pain, _Nadir! I wanted to help - how I wanted to help him! I should have seen then that I loved him, for looking back, I know I did. Even when I saw his face for the first time, and I was so shocked and horrified, I loved him, despite it. Now, I suppose I love him _because _of it. I will protect him, Nadir; let no one else hurt him ever again."

Nadir smiled fondly, drinking his drink. "You will be so good for him," he mused. "You truly care for him."

"With all my heart," Christine replied, looking toward the door to her room, which was slightly open, so that she could hear if Erik needed her.

"He is far more delicate than he seems, Christine," Nadir warned quietly.

Christine nodded, eyes never leaving the door behind which Erik slept.

"I will never leave him."

Nadir left not long after, knowing Christine and Erik would, whether they knew it now or not, appreciate the time alone. When he was gone, Christine went back to Erik's side. His tea was cold, and she berated herself for not thinking of taking it back to the kitchen to warm it.

There was another thing that worried her; Erik was still asleep. Her conversation with Nadir had gone on longer than she'd realized; when she'd looked at the drawing room clock just after the daroga left, it had nearly been dinner time, and Nadir had gotten here just about lunch time.

Concerned, Christine reached out her head, and pressed her ear against Erik's chest, letting out a relieved breath when she heard his breathing and mostly steady heartbeat. _Mostly steady? _There was the slightest deviation in the pattern of the beats. It was just a small skip, really, but Christine could easily imagine it exaggerating when his heart rate, or blood pressure rose.

She sighed, and stood. She didn't have to think too very hard about where he might keep the medication he needed; it was most likely in his room. And even if she was wrong, she would find it. Somehow, she had the feeling it should have been used more regularly than Erik did.

She decided to look for it first in the kitchen, not really wanting to go into his room - personal space and all. That, and the coffin was a tad awkward. It unnerved her most how a man, who could be so strongly alive as to survive multiple trips to death's door, from what she'd heard, would sleep in such a strong symbol of death. Especially when said man was her new husband.

In the end, she didn't need to go to his room to look for his medicine. Just as she'd thought, there were instructions, in fine, fine print, that stated that the medication should be taken once weekly to prevent heart attacks. She remembered him mentioning that he took medicine for _after _the attack happened, to calm him, and ease the pain from his heart. Hadn't he read the instructions? Or did he simply not care? Could it be that he _wanted _to die?

"Oh, Erik," she sighed.

"What?"

Christine let out a little shriek, jumping at the sudden voice behind her. Erik stood there, leaning against the door-fame, smirking weakly. After she got over the shock of his sudden appearance - fully dressed, too - she approached him on the subject of the medicine.

"Yes," he answered simply. "Nadir said he wanted me to have a stronger batch a few months ago." He gently took the vial from Christine's hands and took a sip, and Christine noted worriedly that his hands were shaking.

"Erik," Christine said firmly. "Can you read what it says?"

Erik turned the bottle in his hands, squinting slightly in the dim light.

"'For attacks of the heart,'" he read, smiling a bit. Christine shook her head.

"Read the fine print," she clarified.

Erik frowned, and looked closely at the little bottle.

"I...."

"Erik," Christine gasped. "Are your eyes really so bad?!?"

Erik chuckled lightly, shaking his head.

"I'm getting old, Christine," he reminded her. "And it's not exactly bright down here, you know."

Christine sighed. How she worried for him! The entire time she'd spent with Raoul, her mind had been firmly stuck on Erik. She had thought of little else _but _her maestro. He had taught her everything she knew. About music, _and _herself. Without Erik, she would have remained the shy, dead-inside, mousy little chorus girl with no true hope for real happiness.

Sensing her upset, Erik pushed himself stiffly from the wall, and held her in his arms, pulling her as close against his chest as he could.

"What is it, Christine?" he asked softly. "What is wrong?"

Christine let out a light little laugh.

"Nothing," she assured him. "I was just thinking how different my life would have been without you. How much less, well enjoyable."

"You enjoy spending your time with a dying old man?" Erik questioned, tilting his head to one side.

"Don't say that!" Christine snapped, tears immediately coming to her eyes. "You _aren't _dying, and you're not _that _old!"

Erik saddened, and filled with guilt at Christine's reaction to his words.

"Christine, I'm sorry!" he exclaimed, taking her into his arms again, and pressing her tight againt him. "Please, if my words upset you, forgive me! I did not mean to make you cry!"

Christine returned the embrace, kissing away the tears that had started falling from his own eyes.

"Don't fret, love," she insisted. "I care about you, is all. I just found you, and I don't want to see you hurt. Please, there is no need to get worked up over me, Erik. I reacted too strongly to what was just personal opinion. Please, calm yourself, _mon amour. _I'm not upset."

Erik took her face tentatively in his hands, and slowly, nervous and trembling slightly, kissed her lips with his, waiting for her to pull away, to run from his horrid lips. But Christine did not. She returned his kiss whole-heartedly, instead.

After a moment, Christine pulled back, her eyes serious.

"I want you to take that when it says to," she said firmly. "The fine print says 'once a week', Erik. That is what I expect. The medicine is meant to _prevent _these attacks before they begin, not stop them after they start. Promise me you'll take them regularly?"

Erik nodded. "Of course, dearest," he promised.

Christine smiled, and leaned her head against his chest, smiling softly as Erik wrapped his long, thin arms around her, and she wound her arms about his neck.

XxX  
Chapter two! Hope you guys liked it! Review, please!


	3. Love

Love  
XxX

Erik frowned from where he sat, bundled almost ridiculously with most of the blankets in the house. He'd woken up that morning, coughing and with the slightest fever. He knew it was just an after effect of the attack, and pushing his recovery. But Christine had been frantic. Now, however, he was beginning to question why.

"Is that what you want them to believe, then?" he demanded quietly, eyes piercing Christine's. "That I am gone?"

"It would be safest for you," Christine replied softly, reaching out to touch his face.

"And when your little viscount hears? What happens when he comes for you, and finds me alive and well?"

Christine shook her head. "I'll tell him the truth."

"And when he tells everyone else?!" Erik reminded her firmly, standing as anger flashed in his eyes. "When they come here?!? _Destroy everything, TAKE YOU AWAY!?!"_

Erik cut off, coughing, and dropping back into his chair. When the little fit passed, he pressed his hand to his chest as his heart pounded.

He hated the coughing. It didn't come with every attack, just the worst. He remembered a time, long ago, when the exertion of the coughing had been so bad, it led to a _second _attack. That hadn't been fun. Erik was glad, though, that Nadir had been there; he'd saved his life.

Christine gasped, concerned. She'd known Erik wasn't well this morning, and more likely to react strongly to things, but she'd still not thought her words through. Worried, and frantic to calm him, she threw her arms around him, and helped him sit back down, stroking his hair, and holding him close.

"Erik! Oh Erik, I'm _sorry!" _she cried, clinging to him. "I didn't mean to upset you! I know, I didn't exactly think it through, but I promise you, I'll find some way. I love you, Erik. I won't let them take you away from me. I won't let them touch this place. I swear. I'll protect you."

Erik shook his head, bringing a hand to her cheek.

"I should be saying that, _mon ange," _he whispered, smiling sadly. "I am afraid, however, in my present state, that I cannot be quite the man you need."

"Erik, don't say things like that!" Christine gasped, cupping his face gently. "You are everything I need, and _more, _my dear. I am so, _so _sorry it took me this long to realize I love you." She took his face tenderly in his hands, and kissed him lovingly.

"I'll be back soon, _mon amour," _she assured.

Erik watched her go, and sighed. He'd miss her presence until she returned. Perhaps a sleep would pass the time more quickly? Erik picked the blankets off the floor where they'd fallen when he stood, and pulled them up over his body - even with the fire, it sometimes got quite cold below the opera - settling himself, and closing his eyes.

-

-

Christine stepped out from the mirror, and sighed. So many memories in this one room. She bent to grab a basket that was there, and walked out.

She had decided to go out shopping. Certainly, they needed more things at home. Erik would need medicine to help the cough, and kill his fever.

As she trotted down the main steps outside the opera house, she sighed, wondering what her life would have been like if she'd stayed with Raoul? She could have had love, friends, light.... but she knew her mind would never leave Erik. Because it was he she truly loved. Raoul was as dear to her as a brother, but Erik was more. So much more.

Halfway to the market, she heard a familiar voice call out to her, and she turned.

"Meg?"

The little chorus girl slammed into her friend in a tight hug.

"Oh, Christine, we were so _worried!" _Meg cried. "Raoul said that the Phantom had you under some sort of spell, he was sure of it! Why - how are you here? Did you escape? Has he... _died?"_

"Oh, Meg!" Christine gasped. "I'm under no spell, I swear! I know I'm not. Even away from Erik, I love him!"

"The Ghost's name is Erik?"

Christine nodded. "Yes, Meg. And he's _alive! _Oh, it's wonderful!" She paused for a moment, remembering why she was out here. "I really must be going, though, Meg. You see, Erik suffers these attacks from time to time. The night I left Raoul? Erik had suffered a horrid one just the day before, Nadir - that's the Persian's name - told me. I left Raoul to go back for Erik. That was when I realized I loved him."

"_Christine!"_

Meg's hands clamped over her mouth, and she tried to push past her fear and understand how her friend could love the Opera Ghost! He'd hurt and killed so many in the past!

"Meg, please," Christine sighed. "I have to go. Erik is feeling unwell, and needs more medicine that what he has at the house. I will return as soon as I can to see you, and explain. But for now, Meg, I _beg _you; tell anyone who asks about him that Erik is dead! It is for his own sake as well as mine! Promise me, Meg Giry!"

Meg was frightened. She'd never seen Christine desperate like this. Tears were welling in the singer's eyes, and she was trembling.

Sighing, Meg nodded.

"I promise."

Instantly, Christine's mood flipped one-eighty. She smiled brightly, and hugged Meg, then hurried off, calling goodbye over her shoulder.

Christine reached the market just a few minutes later. She went first to the herb stores and stands that were always around, and purchased anything for coughs, fevers, and heart trouble that she could find.

She had just purchased what the seller had promised was rather powerful heart stimulant, when her eyes traveled to the _other _parts of the market.

_Perhaps a little gift for him, as well, _she thought with a smile. _Something extra to say 'I love you'._

She almost wanted to laugh at the corny-ness of her sentimental thoughts, but she meant them. She wanted Erik to know just how much she cared about him.

Wandering the stalls, she looked for something - anything - that he might like. Then she found a stall of things from Asia, and Christine was drawn to a little statue of a Siamese cat. The cat sat on it's haunches, one paw waving through the air. Christine smiled. He'd like that. It looked like Ayesha, and he might end up wanting to see how the mechanism to move the arm worked. Happy, Christine paid the man for the statue, and returned to the opera house.

As she walked down the halls to her dressing room, Christine read the little paper the man had given her. It was the legend of what the waving cat meant. Apparently, years and years ago, an emperor had been wandering through his gardens when he saw a waving cat.

Intrigued, he'd gone over to see the little creature. At that moment, an assassin's arrow struck just where the emperor would have been standing. And so, the little cat became a symbol of good luck.

Christine giggled as she stopped for a moment outside her dressing room. Luck. Christine was fairly certain Erik didn't believe in it, but the cat _was _cute, and it _did _look like Ayesha. So maybe he'd like it after all.

"Ah! Mademoiselle Daae!"

Christine turned at the voice to see the managers, Firmin and Andre walking toward her.

"We are glad to see you safe," Andre stated. "Last we heard, you had been taken by the Ghost."

Christine shook his head.

"No," she replied. "Raoul freed me. I came back a week ago to honor a promise, but, the Ghost - Erik - was gone. His acquaintance had informed me that it was a heart attack. It's sad, in a way." Christine turned away, hoping the managers would accept that. It was basically true, but Erik hadn't died. In fact, she was fairly certain he was near. If she closed her eyes and concentrated, she could feel him, probably behind the mirror, as he always used to be.

"Sad?"

Christine nodded. "Yes, sad. He was frightened of the world, of pain. He wanted love, but he did not know how to get or express it. He died without the one he loved. He cared more for her than his own life. He loved so deeply that he lost himself."

Andre remained silent, and Firmin just sighed, almost effortlessly changing the subject.

"When can we expect you to return to the opera, mademoiselle?" he asked.

"Not for a while," Christine told them. "My h... fiancee, is unwell, and recovering."

"The viscount?" Andree asked. "Ill?"

Christine shook her head.

"No, I was never engaged to monsieur de Chagny. I am engaged to another. He has been ill lately, and I went to buy him medicine."

"And you stopped back here?"

"I had some things I needed to get. I will see you again when I can, messieurs."

Christine slid into the dressing room, and waited by the door to hear Andre and Firmin's footsteps fading down the hall. Then she turned, and sure enough, she could strongly feel Erik's presence behind the mirror. But something seemed wrong. She walked forward, and the great mirror swung open as Erik stumbled into the room.

Erik leaned heavily against a small table, before dropping shakily onto the small sette in the room. He was panting, and beneath the mask, he was sweating and pale. Christine hurried to his side, holding him close, and stroking his hair, rubbing his back, and humming softly.

"Steady, Erik," she soothed, rocking slightly. "What are you doing here? If you were this exhausted, you should have gone back. Or not come in the first place." Christine raised her eyebrow reproachfully, waiting for Erik's answer.

"Y-you left.... your c-cloak," he gasped, panting. "I had.... had to get it b-back to you... It's so cold out..."

Christine frowned; certainly, it was a bit chilly outside, but not enough that she'd need her cloak. Concerned, she removed Erik's mask - he tensed slightly,hissing - and reached out to touch his forehead. He was terribly warm, and shaking slightly.

Christine felt tears prick her eyes, and she pulled him into her arms again, burying her face in his thin hair.

"Oh, Erik," she sighed worriedly, smoothing back his hair, and holding him close. "My poor, poor Erik. You shouldn't have come up here. Now you really _are _sick!"

Erik shook his head, and opened his mouth to speak, but instead, a rattling coughing fit racked his thin frame, and his shoulders shook.

Christine rubbed his back comfortingly until the fit passed, then held him close, cradling his head against her chest.

"C-chris.... Christine...." Erik wheezed. "I-I don't.... feel well..."

"Shhhh, Erik," Christine cooed, softly smoothing back his hair. "It will be all right, I promise. I bought medicine for you." She reached into her pocket, then, and pulled out the little waving cat. "And this."

"Christine?"

Erik weakly raised his eyes to look up at Christine, curious as to why she bought the little thing.

"It's supposed to be good luck," the soprano explained. "There's a legend in Asia, that a waving cat saved an emperor from an assassin. I thought it looked like Ayesha."

"I-it does," Erik replied. He shivered when a bit of a draft blew in from the open mirror, and Christine wrapped the cloak she'd left, which Erik had brought up for her, around his shoulders, tying it off, and helping him to stand.

He was a good foot or more taller than her, and it was awkward, but she would not let him suffer alone.

Pocketing the little waving cat, and grabbing the basket of medicine, Christine helped him into the passage, and closed the mirror, then led him down the tunnels to home.

"We won't stay down here long, just enough to get everything together for you," she explained.

Erik frowned, stopping, and looking at her.

"What are you talking about?" he asked hoarsely.

"Well, you certainly can't stay down here when you're ill!" Christine replied. "This damp air isn't good for you, Erik. As soon as I have everything together, we're going to Nadir's until you recover. You said once he told you he always had room for you. I won't let you get worse down here."

Erik balked at the prospect of having to stay above ground, in the world of hateful mankind for any length of time. It bothered him terribly, and his breathing became ragged. Of course, the fact that he was already ill didn't help his reaction to the idea. He broke off into a hoarse coughing fit, and dropped from Christine's side to his knees on the ground, hacking.

Immediately concerned, Christine knelt beside Erik, and held him close, rubbing his back steadily, and stroking his hair as she hummed softly.

Erik was trembling even harder when the fit subsided, and his breathing was harsh and shallow. Christine pulled him to his feet, and tugged one of his arms around her shoulders to support him as she headed back to the mirror.

"I'm getting you to Nadir's _now," _she muttered worriedly, going slow so Erik wouldn't stumble. "You'll have to tell me where to go."

"R-rue de...." Erik coughed. "Rivoli...."

Christine nodded, and wrapped an arm around his waist to help support him. She made her way through the back passages to the entrance to the opera house, then out to the street.

She flagged down a hansom, and helped Erik in, then told the driver where to go, and to be quick.

When Christine got back into the carriage, Erik had managed to recover a little of his strength, and he looked at her, glassy eyes annoyed.

"We should be home," he grumbled.

Christine sighed, and gently brushed a strand of hair out of his face, letting her hand rest on his deformed cheek.

"As I said in the dressing room, the air beneath the opera house is no good for you as you are. You need fresher air to heal." She wrapped her arms around him, pressing his head to her chest, and rocking gently as she hummed a gentle tune.

For the most part, neither of them spoke. Christine held Erik in her arms the entire way, humming and singing softly to comfort him.

"I'm sure we'll be there soon, Erik love," she whispered after Erik had one particularly bad coughing fit.

He was completely out of breath from it, one hand pressed hard against his chest in pain.

Gently, Christine moved his hand, and rubbed her own over his chest in small, firm, slow circles, her other hand holding his head against her shoulder, and stroking lightly.

Erik sat up suddenly, eyes wide and worried.

"Ayesha!" he gasped, looking frantic. Christine grabbed his shoulders to still him, and cupped his cheek gently.

"She'll be fine, Erik. We won't be here more than a day or two, I'm sure. Fortunately, we caught this illness of yours early. With medicine, rest, and fresh air, we'll be back home in a matter of days."

Christine smiled reassuringly, kissing his forehead.

"Everything will be fine," she whispered. "I promise."

-

-

Nadir heard the desperate knocking, and motioned for Darius to stay where he was. For some reason, the daroga had the feeling he would want to be getting the door for this; he felt it was important - imperative - that he let this visitor in.

And he was quite glad he'd been there as the door swung open; Christine stumbled through the door under Erik's weight, crashing into Nadir, who caught her, and helped her steady herself and Erik both.

"What happened?" the Persian asked, concerned. "It's not _another _attack, is it?"

Christine shook her head, looking frantic.

"Erik's ill," she explained. "He's been coughing since this morning. Nadir, I _couldn't _keep him below the opera! The air down there would do him no good."

"Then you will both stay here," Nadir stated, leading them through the living room to a small guest room.

Christine lay Erik on the bed, and pulled the blankets over him.

"Stay with me?" he asked tiredly. It had been after nightfall by the time Erik and Christine had made it to Nadir's, and Erik was completely exhausted.

Christine smiled, and stroked back his hair, which was a bit damp from the light layer of sweat on his face.

"Of course," she promised. Turning to their host, she flashed a grateful grin. "Thank you for letting us stay here so suddenly, Nadir. I wouldn't have asked, but with Erik ill, and you being the only one he trusts..."

"It is perfectly all right that you brought him here," the Persian said, dismissing the issue. "You and Erik are always welcome. Good night, Erik, Christine."

Christine returned the sentiment softly, and Erik raised his hand in a tired, listless wave, mumbling unintelligibly in his near-sleep. Christine smiled softly at him, and pulled back a corner of the blankets. She wasn't exactly tired, but it had been a long trip from the opera house to Nadir's, and she didn't want Erik to wake up alone at all.

Crawling beneath the blankets, she settled in close to Erik, holding him against her. Erik smiled faintly, and buried his head in Christine's chest. Christine reciprocated by cradling his head in her arms, holding him gently in place.

"I love you.... Christine....."

Christine smiled at Erik's exhausted, and child-like tone of voice.

"I love you, too, my Erik," she replied quietly. "Sleep, now. You need your rest."

"'m notired...." Erik mumbled, words hoarse and slurred with sleep.

Despite his words, Erik was asleep in a moment, and his breathing slowly evened out to a steady, constant rhythm.

Christine smirked, and kissed his forehead. She held him close, and hoped that the fresher air above ground would nip whatever sickness Erik had come down with in the bud before it hurt him anymore than he already was hurt. He didn't need that. Not now.

Yawning, Christine gave Erik's body a light squeeze, then closed her eyes, letting sleep claim her in a moment, as she held tight to the one she loved.

XxX  
Yay! Another chapter! Review please!

WARNING; There may be a bit of a delay after this chapter, because a book I've been waiting for for forever is coming in today, and I'm going to try to update other stories, too. Anyway, I hope you all liked this, and review please! You reviewers have been really great so far, so thank you all!


	4. Heart's Dreaming

Yay, my book came! But I'll try to split the time between the rest of my live (including my book, which I love, and must read for English class...) and my stories, almost primarily this one. Hope you'll all like it!

Heart's Dreaming  
XxX

Erik woke up easily, eyes sliding open. He pulled in a deep breath, and let it out slowly, smiling when he realized the weight on his chest was Christine's head. In the night, it seemed, they'd moved and shifted enough that she was in his arms, her head on his chest as he lay on his back. Letting his eyes close languidly, he pressed his lips softly to her head.

"I love you, Christine," he whispered into her hair. She mumbled sleepily, her eyes slowly fluttering open, and Erik instantly regretted speaking.

"Erik?"

Erik smiled fondly, lovingly down at her.

"I'm sorry I woke you, _mon ange," _he whispered, brushing a stray curl out of her face, and letting his hand glide through her hair. Christine's eyes fluttered closed, and the tiniest sensual shiver traveled down her spine.

Erik chuckled lightly, and Christine opened her eyes again. He was hardly as pale as he'd been yesterday, not at all flushed, and his eyes held no unnatural brightness as had come with his fever. He was feeling better, then. She pressed her hand to his forehead, just to be sure. There was still a bit of a fever, but it was much lower than it had been yesterday, when he'd stumbled weakly through the mirror and into her dressing room. But she was not about to take chances.

"You still have something of a fever, Erik," she sighed. "I want you to stay in bed, alright? I will get you some food." Christine leaned in, and gently kissed his cheek. "Get some rest."

Erik rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything. Truth be told, he did feel rather tired. Rest certainly couldn't hurt him.

Christine dressed, and smiled at him from the door, before disappearing into the rest of Nadir's flat. She found the Persian sitting in a chair by the fire, reading the newspaper. When he saw here, he set aside his paper, beaming.

"Good morning, Christine," he greeted brightly. "How did you sleep?"

"Fine, actually," Christine replied. "Erik is much warmer than his hands would suggest."

That was when the daroga seemed to notice Erik's absence.

"How is he?" Nadir aked worriedly. Christine flashed a smile.

"His fever is much lower than it was," she told him, "but still there. I told him to stay in the bed today, so he won't further hurt himself."

Nadir smiled again, nodding.

"He has needed more rest for many years."

Christine smiled sadly. Erik always seemed to be pushing himself just too hard. She wished there was a way she could convince him to take it easy, and not strain himself.

"Breakfast is ready, if you want any," Nadir offered, causing Christine to jump slightly. She smiled afterward, beaming at the Persian.

"Thank you, Nadir," she said. "I'll get a plate for Erik, as well."

"There should be one for each of you."

Christine laughed lightly.

"Again, thank you, Nadir," she smiled, taking the two plates from the table, and going back to the guest room where Erik was.

"Well this is a new sight," Christine mused, giggling.

Erik tilted his head.

"How so?" he asked, raising an eyebrow behind his mask.

"Usually you're already asleep," Christine explained with a shrug. "Ever since the attack, you've been rather tired," she added quietly, eyes turning thoughtful as a pensive frown crossed her face. Erik stood at her worried look, and pulled her into his arms.

"It's all right, Christine," he said softly, kissing her temple, and stroking her hair. "_I'm _all right. I promise you."

Christine nodded, then looked up at him sternly.

"Bed," she stated simply, pointing. Erik looked from her, to the bed, and sighed. Anything for Christine. And if he had to admit it, he _was _feeling tired.

Christine smiled when Erik lay down again without protesting, though she doubted he'd be this compliant in a few more weeks.

Picking up the plates again, she moved to sit on the edge of the bed beside Erik, and handed him a dish.

Erik stared balefully at the soup. He wasn't an invalid, darn it! He felt absolutely fine! Between the two of them Nadir and Christine were likely to coddle him to death. Yes, he still felt a bit weak from the attack, and the slightest bit ill from yesterday, but other than that, he was fine!

Christine giggled at his grumbling, and touched his arms, her eyes glimmering.

"Don't worry," she comforted. "I added a bit more meat than Darius put in to begin with. I know plain broth isn't something you like much."

Erik had to smile at her thoughtfulness, despite the fact that there were eggs on her plate, and a small steak. She had a glass of wine, but his cup was full of some juice. For the love of _God; _he _wasn't _dying!.... anymore.

Laughing outright by this time, Christine took her plate and switched it for his, beaming at his annoyed glower. That glower, however turned to a frown when she offered her own food in exchange for his. Not that he wanted the soup - he wasn't very hungry at all - but Christine should eat what had been given to her; he didn't want her to go hungry.

"You eat it, _ma cherie," _he declined, pushing the plate back in her direction.

Christine shook her head.

"It's all right, Erik," she told him. "I'm not very hungry this morning, and you need real food if you expect to get better."

The look on Christine's face worried Erik. As he looked closer, he could see that she was a little pale, and there was a bit of a frown on her pretty face. She wasn't hungry, or was too ill to keep the food down?

"Christine?"

Christine looked up at him, tilting her head.

"What is it, Erik? Are you all right?"

"Fine," Erik replied. "It's just, you seem tired today. You're not feeling ill, are you?"

Christine smiled fondly, and gently cupped his cheek.

"I don't think so, love," she said softly. "I feel fine."

Erik wasn't quite certain, but she said she was all right, so he'd believe her.

Christine had barely finished the soup, when she stood, and all but ran from the room, a hand on her stomach. Worriedly, Erik stood and followed her into the bathroom. When he saw her retching in the toilet, he moved to hold back her hair, and very gently rubbed her back as she vomited, and shuddered.

"Christine?" Erik asked frantically, eyes filling with worried tears. How long had she been ill, and how had he not noticed? What was wrong with Christine? Would she be all right. "Christine!"

Eventually, Christine groaned, and leaned against Erik's chest, panting and trembling.

"Christine, what is it?" Erik asked. "What happened? How did you fall ill?"

Christine shook her head helplessly, and clung to Erik, eyes shut against the sharp pain in her throat.

Erik gently rubbed her back, and stroked her hair, muttering and humming softly. After a moment, he stood, and led her back to the guest room.

Once he had her situated in the bed, he went out to find Nadir, and, if need be, beg him to send for a doctor.

He found the Persian sitting in his chair by the fireplace, reading.

"Daroga," he called, sounding urgent, and slightly frazzled. "Daroga, something is wrong with Christine. We need a doctor."

Nadir looked up from his book, green eyes going dark with concern.

"What has happened?" he asked, standing.

"Christine was ill," Erik explained. "She offered to switch food, as she was not hungry. Daroga, we need a doctor, I tell you!"

"Of course, Erik," Nadir said calmingly. "I'll ask around for one myself."

"I could go, sir," Darius spoke up, stepping out of a shadowy corner. Nadir nodded his thanks, and Darius turned to leave.

Poor Erik only seemed to get more frantic once the two men were alone. He was pale as a sheet, and pacing, wringing his hands, and muttering in a panicked tone.

"Erik, calm down," Nadir instructed, catching Erik by the shoulders, and pushing him to sit down on the couch. "You'll work yourself into another attack, and that won't help Christine at all."

Erik nodded, swallowing hard. Then he stood, staring at the doorway to the hall.

"I should be with her," he muttered. "After all, she could have caught this from me. I can't let her suffer alone." He pushed past Nadir, and went back to the room with Christine.

He found her lying on the bed, one arm draped over her face. She groaned, and he was instantly by her side.

"Do not worry, Christine," he soothed, taking her hand, and holding it tightly. "Nadir has sent for a doctor, and then you'll be fine."

Christine shook her head.

"Erik," she muttered, removing her arm. "I know what this is. It happened to one of the ballet dancers at the opera."

Erik tensed at the mention of the opera house, and that Christine knew of someone who'd caught this same sickness.

"If she survived it," he stated, trying to sound confident, though his voice shook. He'd finally gotten what he wanted; he'd finally gotten his Christine. He _couldn't _loose her now. He'd die without her. "So will you."

"Erik," Christine sighed, smiling faintly. "I'm not sick."

Erik let out a breath, relieved, until he realized she was still pale.

"What is it, then?" he asked, voice starting to take on a frightened tone. Could it be that she'd finally regained control of her senses as he'd recovered from the attack, and she had remembered his true horrible ugliness? Perhaps it was a glimpse of his face with a clear mind that had made her so ill?

"I-" Christine hesitated, face flushing, and eyes closed. "I think it may be that I'm pregnant."

She'd said the last part so softly, that Erik almost didn't hear it. Almost. As it was, he _had _heard it, and he balked, eyes widening, and face paling several shades in a moment.

"H-how?" he choked out, feeling his heart-rate quicken. If Christine was right.... "How are you sure?"

"I'm not," Christine replied, slowly shaking her head. "But my breasts hurt, and I feel sick to my stomach. Those are signs of pregnancy, Erik. But they could also point to something else."

"You're not dying," Erik growled. "I won't allow it."

Christine laughed lightly.

"It's not as though pregnancy or impending death are the only possibilities, Erik," she sighed, raising a hand to stroke his cheek. "It could be something minor. I'm sure, though, my love, that I'll be fine. Don't worry, Erik. Please."

Erik nodded and tried to smile, but to tell the God's honest truth, he was terrified that Christine _was _seriously ill. In all his studies, he'd only come across a few illnesses with these symptoms, and while the obvious one was a prospect that brought joy as well as fear, the others were not so bright.

Not long after, the doctor arrived, and Erik had to wait with Nadir and Darius outside the room. He stood apart from them, shaking slightly, and paler than death.

It seemed to take forever for the doctor to examine Christine. Oh, he wished he was in there with her, to hold her hand, promise her that whatever was wrong with her, they'd get through it together.

_God, Christine, don't die, _Erik thought desperately. If she wasn't pregnant, and this was serious....

After a while, the doctor came out of the room, and looked at the three men.

"You are the husband, yes?" he asked Erik, indicating the ring on Erik's left hand. Erik nodded shakily.

"What is it?" he asked in a small voice.

The doctor smiled slightly, seeming quite pleased, and under the assumption that whatever he said would be good news for Erik. Of course, that depended on a few things.....

"Your wife, monsieur," the doctor stated, the smile still in place, "is, indeed, with child."

Erik stared at the doctor, eyes wide. Then, slowly, he walked into the room with Christine, and sat beside her on the bed.

Christine smiled fondly at him, tenderly holding him with one hand by the back of his neck. Neither noticed when Nadir leaned forward to close the door.

"A child," Christine breathed, eyes shining. "_Our _child...."

"It will be a miracle," Erik muttered distantly.

Christine tilted her head, looking worried.

"You're not happy, _mon amour?" _she asked. "You don't want children?"

Erik shook his head.

"That is hardly it, Christine, dear," he whispered. "I just.... I don't.... God, Christine! _My _child!" Erik stood from the bed, running a trembling hand through his hair, and pulling in an unsteady breath.

"Erik?"

Pained eyes turned to look at her, and Christine felt her heart ache in compassion, and sympathy.

"What if it looks like me?" he choked out, near to tears himself. "You would not want _two _masked faces staring at you. You can hardly bare just the one!"

Christine was up from the bed, and standing in front of him with her hands clutching his shoulders in a second, eyes flashing.

"Erik, I _love _you," she said firmly, reaching up and tugging the mask away from Erik's face. "I don't _care _what you look like. Our child will be beautiful, Erik. She'll be lovely! Even if she looks like you. No, not 'even if', _especially_ if she looks like you, Erik. You are a wonderful person, beneath it all. Despite what you may say, there is still a bit of your soul untouched by your dark past. This baby, I am sure, will help you see that."

Desperate to change the subject, Erik raised an eyebrow.

"'She'?"

Christine nodded.

"Woman's intuition, call it," she shrugged. "And I know, no matter what she looks like, Erik, she'll be beautiful. Completely, wholly, beautiful, because she'll have two parents who love her and will care for her every day."

Erik shook his head, backing away when Christin tried to hug him.

"I-I can't," he gasped. "I c-can't.... raise a _child! _God knows I'd _destroy _it! They say it is the duty of the parents to lead the child to heaven, but Christine, if you even let me _near _our baby, that alone will condemn it to Hell!"

Christine sighed. She wished Erik wasn't so insecure. It was sad to see someone who could be so strong at times all but defeated, on his knees, looking broken. She stepped forward again, and this time, Erik did not retreat when she wrapped her arms around him.

"You won't destroy our child, Erik," Christine comforted. "You'll be a wonderful father. Our child will love you so!"

Erik shook his head, and buried his face in Christine's hair.

"She can't! She _shouldn't! _Who else but you, Christine, would _ever_ see _this -" _he motioned sharply to his face "-with anything other than horror?"

"Oh, Erik," Christine sighed. "You must trust me. Our child _will not _fear her father. She will _love _you, Erik. Everything will be fine, you'll see."

Christine gently held Erik against her, rubbing his back, and humming softly as she listened to his heartbeat and fractured breathing.

-

-

That afternoon, they returned to the house on the lake beneath the opera. Ayesha was waiting for them. The little Siamese meowed and rubbed against Erik's legs, begging to be held.

Ayesha licked Erik's hands and face as he held her against his chest, glad to see him again. She'd felt so alone the last day. Erik had never left her for quite so long before, and it had scared her.

After a moment, Erik set her down, and took Christine's hand, pulling her to the drawing room, and setting her in the chair by the fire. Then he stood, and grabbed a blanket from the corner of the room and wrapped it around her. He knelt to light the fire, then sat at her side on the front of his feet.

"Erik," Christine asked. "What are you doing? I'm perfectly fine."

Erik shook his head.

"You're pregnant, Christine," he explained. "I don't want to loose you. Or the baby. If it is so special to you, then I must protect it with my life."

"But, but Erik!" Christine countered, touching his arm worriedly. "You're still recovering from that last attack! You should rest yourself, not go running all around the place catering to me, pregnant or not! I am not so far along that I cannot take care of myself. I would rather that, than see you hurt!"

Erik smiled wryly, and nodded, situating himself on the little footstool.

"All right, my dear," he said softly. "I'll sit quietly with you, if it pleases you."

"It does," Christine smiled. "Because at least then, you're not exerting yourself, love."

Erik chuckled softly, leaning against the side of the chair, and kissing Christine's cheek.

"Have I ever told you, _ma cherie, _that you worry too much?"

Christine laughed, and lightly, playfully, batted his arm. Erik smiled and drew her close, kissing her head, and thinking about the child they would have.

Whether he wanted to or not, those thoughts came, and he found himself truly wondering about their child. What would it look like? Was Christine's 'woman's intuition' correct; would their child really be a girl? Who would she take after more; Erik, or Christine. _Oh, god, let her resemble Christine more than me! _Erik thought desperately, eyes widening for a moment.

In that instant, his eyes closed, and he saw a small girl, with lovely soft skin, curling black hair, and shinning gold eyes, eyes like his. The little child reached out to him, then vanished, and Erik was left staring at the blackness of the inside of his eyelids.

"What are you thinking about?" Christine asked softly as she stroked his hair.

"Our child," Erik murmured.

Christine smiled, and kissed his temple gently.

"So was I."

Erik laughed, and quicker than Christine could think, lifted her into his arms, then settled her back in his lap as he sat in the chair. He held her close, kissing her soundly, and leaning his head against hers.

"I love you, Christine," he breathed. "God only knows how much I love and need you."

Christine kissed him again, murmuring the same sentiment as she nuzzled her head against his chest.

XxX  
Yay, the chapter is finished! I hope you all liked it. Reivew, please!


	5. Misconstrued

Yay, 'nother chapter!

Misconstrued  
XxX

Erik let out a soft sigh as he slid onto the bench before his organ. It was early, and Christine was still sleeping, but Erik had woken up, and his body wouldn't let him get back to sleep.

It felt like forever since he'd played, and he ran his fingers gently over the keys, remembering all the times he had let himself be completely immersed in his music. Softly, slowly, as though he was not sure he remembered how, he began to play.

The song was soft, quiet, and hesitant at first, but soon it became powerful, passionate, and he slipped subconsciously into the familiar trance that had once accompanied playing the grand instrument.

-

-

Christine woke slowly, at first not aware of the sound of soft music drifting from Erik's room.

Ayesha wandered into the room, looking sour about something. She jumped up onto the bed, demanding attention.

Flattered that the little cat would actually seek anything from her, Christine scratched her behind the ears as she'd seen Erik do. The result was instantaneous. Ayesha's back arched in pleasure, her neck stretching out as a deep purr started up in low in her throat as her eyes closed.

Hunger eventually drew Christine from the room, and when she went into the drawing room, she heard the song.

Following the notes, she walked into Erik's room. He was playing the great old organ, and seemed almost entranced. But something wasn't quite right.

Christine could hear his difficult breathing, and, without really thinking - the music had ensnared her in it's web as well - she moved forward, one hand reaching out to take away the mask that was obviously causing him discomfort.

Too late did she realize how familiar this whole incident was. Too late did she snap away from the power the music held over her. She didn't realize or think about what she'd just done - the memories she'd brought back - until Erik swung around, more startled by her sudden presence than anything else, a shocked, almost hurt look on his face as something flashed through his eyes.

For a moment, he was back in that moment when she'd first seen him without his mask. For a moment, everything since then faded away, and anger and anguish set in, until he realized Christine had him by the shoulders, asking him if he were all right.

"Again, Christine?" he muttered numbly, though there was a light in his eyes that was close to betrayal. Christine frowned.

"Erik, I could hear you having trouble breathing across the room," she replied, worry filling her mind. Why the sudden change in Erik's attitude? He hadn't cared the last time she removed his mask. "I know I shouldn't just come up behind you like that, and I'm sorry if I startled you, but I was only trying to help, Erik."

Erik took the mask from her hands, and gave her a pointed look. _Now _full memory of the last time she'd removed his mask in such a situation returned, and she pulled Erik into her arms, holding him close and apologizing continuously.

After a moment, Erik's instincts, which had flared at the removal of his mask, faded, allowing his mind to return to the present, and he shook his head at Christine's apologies, and returned her embrace lovingly.

"It's not your fault, Christine," he sighed. "I don't know what came over me; I should have known you were there. I suppose it was the music."

"It was lovely," Christine said softly.

Erik sighed and kissed Christine lightly.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, effortlessly changing the subject. "You need to eat, _mon amour. _The baby must have nourishment, as well, after all."

Christine smiled, allowing the moment to pass, but when Erik moved to put the mask back on, she stopped him, by gently grabbing his wrist, and taking the mask from his hand.

"Not in your own home, my love. Not around me."

Erik looked helpless for a moment, then a steely look crossed his face.

"Fine," he said flatly. "If you want to face the monster every day, be my guest."

Christine sighed, and took his face in her hands, bringing him into her arms.

"You are not a monster," she whispered. "I never thought of you as one, I don't think of you as one, and I doubt I ever will. Is it so hard to belive that I love you, Erik?"

Erik sighed and looked away. Though he said nothing, his actions made his answer clear; _Yes, Christine. I find it very hard to belive you could ever love a demon like me. You, an angel, and I, a corpse. _

Christine's eyes turned sad.

"Erik," she said softly. "Do you trust me not to lie to you?"

Erik froze, and turned hurt, confused eyes to Christine.

"I..."

Christine's eyes widened slightly, and she stepped back, a hurt, betrayed light entering her eyes.

"I understand, Erik," she muttered. "I _completely _understand."

Something dark and ugly - rather worthy of Erik's blacker moods - flashed in her eyes.

"I'll just go now," she growled. She finished her sentence in a vicious hiss; "Back to someone who _will _trust me!"

Erik's eyes widened, and he stood, frozen, shocked, terrified. He'd just gotten Christine; was he going to lose her _again, _just because he had a hard time with trusting people? It wasn't Christine, certainly. She had come back to him in the end; returned and kept him alive with love when all he'd wanted was to die. No, it wasn't her, he just had difficulty trusting people after the fiasco that staying with Giovanni had become.

Memories assaulted him on the spot. The long nights by Giovanni's fire, when he thought it would never be anyone but the two of them, the old man's defense of him, and affectionate protection, the crushing snap of Erik's fragile trust when Lucianna first ran into her father's arms, and at last, that horrid, shattering night when Giovanni had all but destroyed his faith in the human race by ordering him to take off his mask and Lucianna's subsequent death.

Memories of Nadir, and Jules and his wife, the khanum, Javert, the shah; so much came rushing back in, and a headache started pounding behind his sunken eyes.

He had lost so many because of his face, or his personality. He would _not _lose Christine.

Erik found her in her room, a bag packed beside her, tears flowing down her face. Erik felt his heart clench worriedly, and he tentatively moved forward.

"Christine...."

Christine looked up at him, and in a moment, she was clinging to him, sobbing, and begging him to forgive her for snapping at him.

Erik was dumbfounded for a moment. Just a moment ago, Christine had been furious. He'd come in expecting to be the one apologizing, and now, Christine was clinging to him, in tears. He'd never known her emotions to be so turbulent, and it scared him.

"Christine, I-I didn't mean to upset you," he murmured. "Please, it's not just you! I've _tried _to trust so many times, and look where it got me! Stuck in a hole for _nine years_!" He pulled back enough to look down at her, and Christine turned her red-rimmed eyes to look back up at him. "I'm sorry, Christine. I _want _to trust you. But.... you tried to _leave! _Without even saying good-bye!"

Erik stepped away from her then, lost in the pain of the memory of hearing Raoul and Christine making plans to leave as soon as they could. He remembered the dull pain that had started in his chest, and hadn't left until he'd filled his veins with more morphine than ever before.

Tears flooded his eyes as he turned away, that familiar, warning pressure gathering strength behind his ribs.

_You would have left me to die alone!_

The accusation hung between them; Christine could feel it just from the way he stood; slightly hunched, gripping his arms with wild, pained desperation, as though that were the only comfort he could get.

"Erik...." Christine whispered, all hormonal moodiness gone. She took a step toward him, and reached out a hand.

When he groaned, and his right hand moved to his chest, Christine understood.

She took his shaking shoulders, and eased him down onto her bed. Christine could see that this wasn't a complete attack; they'd caught it before things got that far, but from the sudden loss of all color in his face, she knew it was serious. Had the attack carried out, he probably would have died of it.

Sobbing softly, Christine stroked back his hair, and carressed his cheek lightly, her hands trembling.

Erik opened his eyes slowly, and looked up at Christine.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I promise I'll try to trust you. I'll ignore whatever instincts tell me to trust no one, and give you freedom."

Christine seemed to take his words the wrong way, and shook her head.

"I won't leave you. And there is no reason for you to be apologizing, Erik love. This is my fault. My pregnant hormones nearly caused you to have another attack!" Christine took his hand, and held his palm against her lips as she spoke, tears still streaming down her cheeks. "You could have _died _today, because of _me! _Because I can't learn to control my own emotions! Erik, I'm sorry! I've hurt your trust probably more than anyone else in the world, and now you almost have an attack because of me!"

Erik sat up slowly (he didn't want to aggravate the iron tightness in his chest any further; as it was, it had risen from pressure to slight pain, and his left hand felt a bit colder than normal) and carefully wrapped his arms around Christine.

"Don't apologize, my dear," he breathed into her hair. "It is not your fault that I am so sensitve. Memories got me worked up, and that's hardly your fault, Christine."

As they both calmed down, Erik felt the pain in his heart back off steadily. Slowly, yes, but steadily.

"What day is it?" Christine asked randomly.

Erik raised an eyebrow, looking at her.

"Sunday, I believe," he replied, slightly confused by the sudden question. "Why?"

In answer, Christine produced the small bottle that held his medicine, and pressed it into his hands.

"Once a week, Erik," Christine reminded. "And on a day when we won't be doing anything that might not weather interruption seems like the best time."

Again, Erik raised an eyebrow quizically at Christine, who sighed, and further elaborated.

"Sunday. The Lord's Day, Erik. No work is to be done on the Sabath day."

Erik bit his tongue and closed his eyes to hold back a snort. He knew there was a god, yes, because that god had brought Christine back to him at the last. But what did that god care what they did of a weekend day?

"Erik?"

Erik blinked, then looked at Christine. She pressed the flask into his hand, and smiled encouragingly at him. Erik smiled slightly, and lifted the bottle to his lips, taking a long drink; the pain in his chest, though almost nonexistant, was still there, and he had difficulty moving his left arm; he didn't like it, either. It made him edgy.

Christine took the now empty vial from him, and kissed his cheek tenderly.

"Get some rest," she said softly. "I'll come along later."

Without protest, Erik smiled faintly, and closed his eyes. All the emotion of the last half an hour, and how tired he'd felt earlier today had taken its toll on him, and he was suddenly sleepy.

Christine left the room, shaking and uneasy. How easy it was for Erik's attacks to be triggered! Trembling and very upset at the thought of Erik's poor health, Christine sat at the desk in the corner of the room. She had the distant feeling that nothing good would come of this, but she needed to write to someone, and Raoul was the first person who came to mind.

For a moment, she held her face in her hands, taking a deep, calming breath. Her hands were still trembling slightly when she began to write.

_Raoul,_

_I don't know when I'll have the chance to write again, and I'm not sure why I feel I must now. Oh Raoul, I'm frightened! Poor Erik! It seems nothing goes right down here. I fear I'm not strong enough for this. _

_Raoul, there are days when I miss the innocence of our time together. But you mustn't come for me! I shouldn't have even said that, to be honest. I shouldn't even be writing this letter! It's just, the attacks frighten me so. I don't know what to do when it happens. It's so painful, Raoul, and I'm frightened. _

_Dear, sweet Raoul, I wish there was a way I could see you, but I could never leave Erik. There'd be an attack, and neither of us would live, I know it. Oh Raoul, how I wish my love was enough, but I'm afraid it isn't! I try to keep him calm, and yet, at every turn the attacks come, and I don't know how much more him or I can take of this._

_I'm pregnant, Raoul. Dear God, I'm pregnant! With Erik's child!_

Christine stopped writing then, and pressed her hands against her flat stomach. Soon, however, it would be round. Round with the proof of her love for her Erik, her real-life angel of music. She only hoped he would live to see that day.

_I pray loving this child will help stop the attacks, but I fear it will only make things worse. Erik didn't know how to take that I was with child. He was upset and emotional. I think I frightened him. _

_Lord, Raoul, I've gone and nearly brought on another attack! Today, my pregnancy made me emotional, and Erik was so upset! Another attack is bound to come soon. Oh, that last one was terrible, Raoul. My heart still hurts from it! _

_I truly am sorry to bother you with something so unimportant, Raoul, but it scares me so! I suppose I should go, though. Writing this has taken me quite some time because my hands still tremble from the near-attack today. I am sure Erik will wake and require my presence soon. I only pray the next attack will not be soon. Be strong for me, Raoul. I will think of you always. I certainly hope you have found the woman you will love forever. May this letter find you in happiness and health, Raoul._

_Your true, and loving friend,  
_

_Christine._

_-_

_-_

The next day, Erik and Christine were in the drawing room, Christine on the floor, while Erik read her a story as Ayesha sat calmly in his lap. Erik was reading the story of 'Beauty and The Beast'. He'd been reading it to her off and on for the last few days. They were on the part now where Belle held the Beast as he lay dying, assuring him that she loved him. Erik stopped, then, and sighed, a soft, faraway smile on his face.

"It's like us, do you see Christine?" he asked. "Belle came back, and confessed her love as the Beast died, just as you did. Fortunately, neither I nor the Beast actually passed."

"It's _very _fortunate," Christine replied, smiling fondly, and leaning up to kiss Erik.

At that point, the door burst open, and Ayesha jumped from Erik's lap, hissing and spitting at the door, ears laid flat against her skull, all the hairs on her body standing straight up. There stood Raoul, and behind him, a remorseful, regretful-looking Nadir. The viscount had a pistol, and it was leveled at Erik.

Erik stood, furious, and Christine rose behind him.

"Raoul...."

"Let her go, _monster!"_ Raoul snarled, cocking the gun. Christine tried to move forward, but Erik held her back, pushing her behind him.

"Take Ayesha, and go into the other room," he hissed, worry flashing through his eyes before the rage returned.

Christine shook her head.

"I won't leave you, Erik," she insisted.

"Monsieur, surely this is madness!" Nadir implored, looking at Raoul. "You see no signs of abuse, do you? You can see she is willing to stand by him of her own will. Why do you do this? Why did you demand I bring you down her on false suspicions?"

"They are not false!" Raoul cried. The viscount pulled a note from his pocket that made Christine moan. "The proof is here! Come to me, Christine" - he held out his hand to her - "and be free of the demon!"

"You have no right to insinuate, sir!" Erik growled, low in the back of his throat. "And how dare you bring him here again, daroga?! I thought I could trust you after the concern you showed on your last visit, or has that already left your mind?!"

"I am sorry, Erik," Nadir sighed, shaking his head. "The boy would not be placified. I assured him you were nothing but kind and loving with mademoiselle Daae, but he would hear none of it." The Persian turned to Raoul. "Are you satisfied now, monsieur? Are you certain Christine is in no danger?"

"Of course not," Raoul spat. "She spoke of attacks!" Turning to Erik, he moved forward, the pistol in his hand shaking slightly. "You would beat a pregnant woman?"

"I would _NEVER!" _Erik roared, moving forward. "How _dare _you think I would hurt her! I was willing to give her up to you! I loved her enough that I would rather be alone than see her unahppy!"

Christine winced at Erik's tone, and how much his anger and indignation was affecting him. His shoulders were rising and falling rapidly as his chest heaved with his ragged breathing. Gently, she reached a hand to his shoulder, leaning forward slightly.

"Erik, _mon amour, _please, calm down. You'll only do yourself harm; another attack, and I don-"

"Calm down?!" Erik hissed. "This insufferable _fool _honestly thinks I could _hurt _you!"

He took her by the shoulders, and pulled her into a fierce embrace, holding her tight against him. Raoul let out a shout, and ran at him, throwing aside the gun, and pulling out his sword.

The gun went off as it smacked into the floor, and the bullet banged around the room a time or two before lodging harmlessly in the door to Erik's room. From her place beneath the organ, Ayesha howled.

Erik dodged at the last moment, the sword just missing him. He pushed Christine toward the door of his room with a desperate look, but she shook her head, casting about for anything heavy.

Nadir grabbed her shoulders as her sights settled on the gun.

"You don't know how to use one!" he reminded her. "You could shoot Erik. Stay here, and stay down." As Nadir spoke, a vase Erik had thrown in his defense shattered against the wall, having just missed a dodging Raoul. Nadir covered Christine with his body, holding her down, and leaning over her to protect her from the shards.

Erik cringed when he heard Christine scream. Ignoring the danger of the sword, he rushed at Raoul, getting in close enough to twist his wrist until the viscount dropped it with a pained yelp. A quick punch to the base of his skull had Raoul unconscious on the ground. Breath unsteady and shallow, his chest heaving violently, Erik stumbled over to Christine and Nadir.

As soon as he was before her, Christne pulled away from Nadir, and flung herself into Erik's arms.

Erik felt a flash of intense pain, but ignored it, clenching his jaw to keep back a pained cry.

"Erik..." Nadir started, reaching for his friend, sensing some trouble.

"Get..... that boy out.... of my house," Erik ground out, clutching Christine desperately. Sighing, Nadir stood, and pulled Raoul into his arms.

"I really am sorry, Erik," the Persian said softly from the door.

"Please, Nadir," Erik rasped, not looking at his friend.

As soon as the door closed, Erik let go, and all but collapsed in Christine's arms, gasping and wheezing.

"Erik?" Christine gasped, shocked. She hadn't known he was so bad off! "_Erik?!?!"_

"I..... Christine.... t-the.. m-medi....cine..... _attack....."_

Christine set him down, and was off like a shot for the kitchen. She snatched the vial of medication from the counter, and returned to Erik. She dropped on her knees next to him, and pressed the bottle into his hands, guiding them to his lips, and tilting the small flask so that the liquid poured into his mouth.

XxX  
Heh, cliffs. I hope you all liked this chapter, and I'll get another one up as soon as I can. It may not be till Monday, since I'm going with my school's band and chorus to DC for a competition. Review, please!


	6. Apologies

Apologies  
XxX

Erik trembled in Christine's arms, gasping, wheezing slightly. His heart thudded painfully against his ribs, and tears squeezed out of his tightly shut eyes. He felt-lightheaded, weak. If he tried to stand, he knew he'd pass out.

Christine sobbed loudly, clutching Erik to her in a death-grip, her hands buried in his shirt, her face buried in his hair. Oh, this was all her fault. She _knew _she shouldn't have written to Raoul. Looking back, she wasn't even sure why she had. It had only made thing worse, and the worst part about it was she'd _known _he'd do something like this. But she'd been so upset, and afraid.

The letter lay crumpled not far away - within her reach, actually. Letting go of Erik with one hand, she picked the letter up and read it, shock and horror growing as she read.

_Oh, God...._

Her whole body shook violently. How could she have _written that?!? _Oh, it sounded so horrible now, now that it wasn't the heat of the moment in which she'd written it.

"C-christine...." Erik muttered faintly, shifting with a groan so that he was leaning against the wall. He reached out for her with his right hand - his left wouldn't move - and touched her shoulder. "What..... what's wrong?"

With a cry, Christine tore the letter to shreds, and held her face in her hands as she mumbled, and whimpered about how this was her fault.

Erik pushed past the pain in his chest, and pulled Christine close against him, forcing his left arm to obey, and move, holding her in his arms against his chest.

"What do you mean?" he asked, a bit of his strength returning, now that the medicine was in him.

"The _letter!" _Christine cried, sobbing into his shoulder, clinging to him. "Oh, Erik, I'm _sorry! _Please forgive me! I-I was scared! You were in pain! I wanted _someone _to talk to! I f-felt I had to tell someone. I didn't realize how it s-sounded until now! Erik, please, I never meant for this to happen!" She sniffled, and pulled away, wiping at the tears that still coursed down her face. "I'll understand if you want me to go," she whimpered.

Erik's eyes snapped wide at the thought of losing Christine. He didn't like that she'd written to the viscount, but he could understand that desperate need to speak to someone. He'd felt that way when he realized how much danger Giovanni was in because of the mason work. When the only man he'd seen as a father - Nadir was more a brother; their ages were vastly closer than his and Giovanni's - had suddenly started coughing like that that night, and had to rest in bed immediately, he'd been terrified that the older man would die.

But that was in his past. No doubt Giovanni was dead by now, but the point was, he could commiserate.

"Christine..." he gasped, reaching out for her. "No! You can't go! I would never want you to leave me! Please, Christine. Say you'll stay with me...." His voice dwindled to a frightened, quiet whimper at the end, and more tears gathered in her eyes at the thought that Christine might _want _to leave him.

But what he assumed was the inevitable didn't happen. Instead, Christine pulled him into her arms again, pressing his head against her chest, and resting her chin on top of his head. Gently, lovingly, she stroked his hair, as tears trailed down her face.

"Erik, hush," she sighed. "I love you. If you don't want me to leave, then of _course _I'll stay. Oh, Erik, I'm sorry this happened. It's all my fault."

"No," Erik replied, returning her embrace. "I shouldn't have lost control. But he honestly thought I could _hurt _you!" He looked up at her, tears starting in his eyes. "I can't even _imagine.... _My God, Christine. You've been my world since I first saw you. I could _never _hurt you. You believe me, don't you, Christine? Oh, _please _say you know I would never!"

His eyes were pleading, desperate, and Christine felt more tears come to her eyes. She bent her head, and pressed her lips against his lovingly, hoping her voice would come back before she spoke.

"Erik," she said in a soft, comforting voice. "Of course I know that. God, I'm sorry this happened. I mentioned the attacks, but I guess I just forgot to be specific. I was so afraid for you! I know you would never hurt me. Even when I pulled off your mask, and you were so mad, you tried to choke me, I know, even if you _hadn't _had that attack, you wouldn't have harmed me. Erik, I've caused you pain, and I'm so sorry."

Erik shook his head, and leaned into her, suddenly so tired, and drained. Christine picked up on it at once, and helped him stand, guiding, and aiding him to the bed in her room. She refused to let him sleep in that dreadful coffin.

She helped him down onto the bed, and laid beside him, covering them both warmly, and holding him close. She was still upset about the whole incident, and she was determined to make it up to him.

Christine didn't sleep that night. Instead, she stayed awake to watch Erik. About midnight, he woke, though not completely, and mumbled, looking dimly at Christine.

"W-where's Ayesha?" he murmured faintly, lost in some dream. "Christine.... where is she? M-my Ayesha......"

Christine swore the cat was psychic. At that moment, she wandered into the room, and looked up at Christine.

The soprano pulled the little cat into her arms, and set her down on Erik's chest, where she promptly curled up and licked at the hand Erik rose to stroke her soft fur sluggishly.

"Christine...." he breathed, voice hoarse and gruff with near-sleep. His free hand reached out toward her, groping for her own hand, and she took his, holding it tightly in her own, and placing a loving kiss on his palm.

"I'm here, Erik," she assured, smiling softly as she pushed a stray hair out of his face. "Go back to sleep, my love. I'm right here."

Erik smiled weakly as sleep claimed him again, and his breathing deepened and slowed. Christine couldn't help the smile that found its way to her face. Erik looked so innocent, almost, as he slept. And though he was so tall, his thinness made him seem small in the bed, and the dark linens only served to make him look paler than he truly was.

Around dawn, she couldn't stay awake any longer, and she curled herself up next to Erik's side. In his sleep, Erik turned on his side, and wrapped an arm around Christine, drawing her close against him. Christine smiled, and closed her eyes, surrendering her consciousness, and joining Erik in sleep.

-

-

Erik woke when the door opened, and he looked up to see Christine walking into the room with a tray in her hands. He recognized it; it was the one she'd used to bring him breakfast when he'd had his first serious attack (there'd been a few over the years since Persia, but never as bad as the night when Christine had first taken off his mask).

"Christine?" Erik asked, currious as to what she was doing.

The singer smiled, and quickened her pace, then sat beside him on the bed, and placed the tray across his legs, giving him room to sit up without upsetting the food.

"Eat, love," Christine said gently, smiling an encouraging smile. She tucked her legs up under her, and leaned against the headboard beside him, sighing, and leaning her head against his shoulder.

After a moment of silence, Erik wrapped an arm hesitantly around her waist, and when Christine didn't pull away, he held on a little tighter, actually resting his hand against her hip.

Christine stiffened suddenly, one hand on her mouth, and she stood, hurrying to the bathroom. The sound of retching made Erik cringe. Why did pregnancy have to be so.... well, such a _nuisance _for women?

"Christine?" he called when she appeared back in the room. She looked frightfully pale, and Erik felt concern well. "If you could help me to my room, I could make a tonic that would help you."

Christine smiled fondly, but shook her head.

"It's not so bad," she assured him softly. "And it will only be for a few months. And what makes you think I would let you out of bed after your attack yesterday?" Christine added sadly, averting her eyes. "You must rest, my love, or my mistakes will end up killing you."

Erik shook his head.

"Christine," he countered. "I agree with you that perhaps the way you worded your letter to Chagny would have seemed suspicious - and God knows I would have preferred it to be _anyone_ but that boy - but you needed to tell your fears to someone. I understand that, _mon amour. _I do." He patted the bed beside him, and offered a gentle smile. "Come. You need to eat, as well. Sit with me a while, my dear Christine."

Christine felt worlds better now that she was forgiven, but she still felt it was her fault. _She _had caused Erik's first major attack, _she _had caused the second by leaving him. And yesterday, it had been _her _fault that Raoul had come, and angered Erik so much so that he'd had another attack. Oh, she felt horrible.

But for some reason, Erik wanted her with him still, so she put aside her guilt, and enjoyed the morning with him.

They sat together until noon at least. Christine got up for a while, then, and prepared lunch for them both, returning, when she was done, to sit beside Erik with the tray and a smile.

She pressed a cup of tea into his hands, encouragement in her eyes.

"I think I finally got it right," she giggled, referring to making Erik's Russian tea. Taking a test sip, Erik grinned. It was much better than ever, and he smiled.

"You figured out the samovar," he chuckled. "It took me quite a while to master, as well."

Christine sighed, and leaned against his shoulder. Ayesha jumped up onto the bed, and curled across Erik's lap, purring loudly, and begging attention from them both.

"What happened?" Erik asked in amusement, one eyebrow raised. "Not more than five weeks ago, she hated you. Then you came back, and now, she likes you?" He scratched Ayesha's ears and smiled. "That's my good darling," he cooed, kissing the cat's head. "Good girl, finally accepting our Christine."

Christine smiled, and stroked Ayesha down her back, resting her head on Erik's shoulder.

"It certainly will make life easier for us," she sighed happily, slowly blinking her eyes. "At least she won't be trying to gouge out my eyes every time I come near you."

Erik laughed lightly, forcing down the dim bit of pain that flared in his chest.

"I believe the feeling is mutual, my dear," Erik murmured, resting his chin on her head. Christine sighed softly, and closed her eyes. After watching her for a moment, Erik joined her in a light sleep.

He woke to the sound of fabric shifting, and opened his eyes to see Christine pulling on a fresh dress.

"Christine?" he called softly, voice hoarse and thick with sleep. "What are you doing?"

Christine turned at his voice, beaming at him, and walking to the bed. She pulled him into a gentle, tender embrace, and kissed his cheek.

"Don't worry, Erik," she soothed. "I'm going to get us some dinner. I thought it might be nice to eat something already made, love." She kissed his lips softly, and cupped his face. "Get some rest, _mon amour. _I'll be back in a few hours. Most likely less."

Christine smiled one last time, then turned out of the room.

She wandered up the passageways from the house to her dressing room. Though she'd been in and out of the Rue Scribe entrance many times, she had never really paid much attention to that route (Erik had led her out or in every time, and her thoughts had focused on him), and so, decided on the better-known exit.

Up through the passages Christine wandered, back up a road she had gone down many times before. At last, she saw the mirror ahead of her, and beyond it, her dressing room. A wave of nostalgia hit, and she remembered all the things that had happened in that past year.

And along with the memories of what happened came all the guilt from what she'd done to Erik. She had caused him so much pain in so short a time.

Tears pricked at the back of her eyes, and she blinked them away. It hurt so much, to think of all she'd put her dark angel through. She loved him with all her heart.

Christine had a sudden longing to rush back down the passages to Erik, and never leave his side again; to take care of him for the rest of his days, and love him, shelter him from the rest of the world, and whatever other cruelties it had in mind for her beloved Erik.

But she was certain he'd appreciate a nice dinner. Oh, Christine could cook fine, but something professionally made, and not so plain would surely do him good.

Stepping out of the mirror, she gasped, and almost tripped backwards. Strong, firm hands gently caught her around the waist, and pulled her close, pressing her head to their owner's chest.

For a moment, all her dumbfounded, caught-off-guard mind could think was; _Erik. _But all she had to do was feel the cloth against her cheek - rougher than Erik's silk dress suites - and the hands on her back which were shorter, and thicker than his.

Pushing away, Christine stared up at one of the last people she'd been wanting to see at that moment.

"Raoul," she muttered, a feeling that this day had just gone from okay, to rather bad in the span of a heartbeat.

"Oh, Christine," Raoul breathed, smiling and taking her hand. "I knew you'd find a way to escape him. I knew you only said what you had to down there to keep him from hurting you. Come, we can escape and be long gone before he realizes anything!"

Christine pulled her hands away, shaking her head.

"I can't go with you, Raoul," she said a bit sharply, thinking of the other day. "I _love _Erik. He _needs _me."

Raoul shook his head. "You spoke of him attacking you in your letter, Christine. I'm simply trying to help -"

"Raoul," Christine cut in, eyes narrowed. "Do you not remember what I told you about him at the masked ball? That he suffered _attacks _on his heart? That he could _die _of these?" And suddenly, her pregnancy made her mood swing entirely around, and she was sobbing into her hands.

"Christine....." Raoul pulled her into his arms in a sympathetic embrace. "I'm sorry, Christine. They way you wrote, I thought..."

Christine shook her head. "I know, Raoul. I know, and I'm sorry for worrying you. God, I've only made everything so much worse!" She pulled away, and wiped at her tears. "If he saw me in your arms......"

"He would follow you?"

Christine nodded. "The last time I left, he tried to follow, to bring me my cloak, but he was already a bit unwell." The soprano turned away with a sob. But suddenly, her head snapped up, and she smiled at Raoul.

"You must come back here in an hour," she said in a rush, eyes glowing at the thought of how easily everything could be resolved. "Meet me here, and I'll bring you down. And you and Erik can apologize to each other for anything you've done, and all will be right! I'll be able to keep Erik, _and _have you as my dearest friend next to him!" Smiling, she bounced on her feet to give Raoul a quick, friendly peck on the cheek. "I'm getting things for a nice dinner for Erik and I. Perhaps you'll join us?"

Raoul hesitated. He knew perfectly well that Erik did _not _like him, but it couldn't hurt to put this rivalry to rest, because really, it wasn't their place fight for Christine, it was Christine's right to choose who she wanted. She had chosen Erik, and Raoul would do his best to find something in the man besides the insane monster he'd seen on their first meeting.

-

-

An hour later, Christine was still in a state of bliss from her wonderful plan to fix everything. Even _if _Erik was still not well enough to be out of bed, there would be a fine dinner, and a reconciliation to brighten all their hearts.

She all but skipped into her old dressing room, and beamed when she saw Raoul there.

"Come," she laughed, incredibly happy and excited about her friend and her lover's forgiving each other, and putting to rest their shared section of past. "Erik will be worried if I am gone too long."

She led Raoul down through the passages, pointing out the little things that he had missed in his desperate flight with Nadir, and again when he had come to get her back from Erik the second and third times. Her eyes shone as she spoke, and Raoul realized that Christine had never been his, because of the simple fact that she did not belong to the world of light, and beauty. She belonged to a dark existence of intense passion, and need, intricate mixing of care and deepest love. She had always been Erik's. Raoul had never stood a chance, in the end.

She rowed the little boat across the lake with Raoul beside her, still happy and glowing.

"I'll go in to him first," Christine said softly when they had reached the front door. "Let me explain the situation, then I shall call you in. I don't want him upset. Not now."

Using a key she pulled from her pocket, Christine opened the door, and led Raoul inside. She motioned for him to stay there, in the kitchen, and moved through the sitting room and into her room.

"Erik?" she called softly. He looked up, and smiled when he saw her, reaching out one skeletal arm to her, indicating how he wanted to hold her.

Christine came forward without hesitation, and wrapped her arms around his neck, her head on his shoulder.

"How was it, my love?" Erik asked, smiling slightly.

Christine was glowing, Erik noticed. And it wasn't just her pregnancy.

"I'm happy to be back with you," she said. It wasn't a lie. She was very happy to be beside her Erik again. But it wasn't all either. "Do you know, Erik, I ran into an old friend today?"

"Oh?" Erik asked, truly interested in his beloved's life. "Who?"

"You know him," she said softly.

"No." Erik said flatly. "Not him. If he's here, _get him out!"_

"Erik, _please!" _Christine soothed, pushing him back down onto the bed. "There's no need to get worked up. Raoul understands everything. I spoke to him. He's here to apologize for his behavior. And I think you should, as well."

"I did nothing wrong!" Erik defended.

"Not then, no," Christine explained. "But when you had the poor man in a torture chamber! Really, Erik, there was no need for that. Even _had _I left, in time, my eyes would have opened and I would have come back to you. _You _were the one I loved, all along. I just wish I'd seen it sooner. Will you let him apologize?"

Erik nodded grudgingly.

"And _you _will apologize?"

Erik glared.

"Are you _trying _to do away with what littly dignity I have left, you vixen?" he demanded, one eyebrow raised. Christine laughed.

"Come in, Raoul," she called as Erik put on his mask.

The viscount stepped catuiously into the room. When he saw Erik, however, he became a bit less frightened; Erik was certainly in no condition to hurt him. He was incredibly thin, and his skin was pale and ashy. His eyes were sunken more than Raoul remembered, and perhaps a bit less clear. He was quite obviously not at all well.

Raoul extended his hand slowly.

"I am sorry for jumping to conclusions," he said quietly. "It was wrong of me to barge in the way I did. I apologize."

Erik allowed a mental smirk of triumph, as an actual one, he was sure, would have earned him a knock on the head from Christine.

"Apology accepted, boy," he returned, taking Raoul's hand and shaking it. Despite the cordiality, Raoul could see the displeasure in Erik's eyes. "I would have been upset with you had you _not _come to see that Christine was alright."

He started to turn, to remove his hand from the viscounts, but one harsh stare and a clearing of her throat from Christine, and Erik turned back to Raoul.

"And.... I am sorry for my conduct the last time we met," he ground out, all but glaring. Christine dropped her head into her hand with an annoyed groan. Would Erik _never _let go of the past?

XxX  
Wow, this chapter took me forever! I lost a good half of it several times, and I finally managed to finish it! That's part of the reason for the name of the chapter, 'Apologies', and the rest of the reason is, I think, obvious, right? Anyway, review please, and I hope you all liked it!


	7. You and I

You and I  
XxX

Erik pouted. He'd wanted the dinner to be _just _him and Christine. She'd gone to get the food especially for _them, _and now _he _was here. Well, Erik would just have to fix that...

Several ideas cropped up, but most were just too cruel and unfair to Christine. He couldn't fake anything, and then when Raoul was gone just act as though nothing were wrong, that would ruin things even more. But there was the idea of playing up the exhaustion he was already feeling. Yes, that would work.

Erik blinked, and yawned behind a hand, wincing slightly in pain.

_Don't use your left hand, idiot, you'll likely do yourself some _real _damage!_

"Erik?" Christine asked worriedly, touching his shoulder. Erik flashed a tired smile, letting it tremble on his face to show his weakness.

_But this is the only time. And it's only to get that boy out of my house. I could never just demand that Christine make him leave._

"I am alright, my dear," Erik said softly, using a bit less air to make his voice slightly strained - it wasn't that hard, and it wasn't all faking, actually. "Just.... just tired." He frowned, and Christine stroked his masked cheek gently, turning his face toward her. She could see the exhaustion in his eyes. It must have been very bad, because Erik never let weakness show.

He moved to put his arms around her, and winced again, a hand moving to his chest as a stab of true pain flashed through him.

"Erik!" Christine gasped. "Erik, love, whatever is the matter? Why didn't you tell me you were feeling poorly when I first came in?" Turning to Raoul, she said the words that Erik never wanted to forget; "Perhaps another time, Raoul," she said gently, concern in her voice. "When Erik is not so unwell."

"Of course, Christine," the viscount agreed. Christine smiled, and watched him leave, then turned to Erik.

"Are you going to be alright?" she asked softly. "Or do you need your medicine? I have some with me."

Erik shook his head, sitting up slowly. Christine gasped and tried to push him back against the pillows, which had been arranged so that he was more reclining than lying down, but he waved her hands away, and patted the bed beside him.

"Come," he smiled, holding out his arms to her. "Sit with me. Just you and I, my dear Christine."

Christine placed her hands on her hips, smirking, and glaring teasingly.

"Now, why do I get the feeling you only pretended to be in such a state to get Raoul to leave?" she demanded.

Erik looked at her, feigning hurt. "I have no idea what you mean, my dear. How could you think I would do such a thing." He smirked, and Christine growled, smacking his arm.

"Just for that, he'll be coming here regularly for visits," she stated, glaring. "Every week. I _was _going to spare you the torture, and only invite him over every now and again, but after this little stunt of yours, I don't think you deserve it."

Erik looked truly wounded this time.

"It wasn't _all _faking!" he told her. The moment the words left his mouth he regretted them. Christine's eyes went soft and dark with concern, and she sat beside him, pushing him back against the pillows, and tucking the blankets close around his body, just beneath his arms so that he would be able to eat when she brought in the food.

"My _poor Erik!" _she cried, stroking his hair and removing his mask. "Why didn't you just _tell _me you didn't want him to stay? I would have understood, and I am certain Raoul would have as well. Oh, now you've gone and hurt yourself trying to spare my feelings."

Tears trailed down her face as she clung to Erik, holding him against her chest, muttering over and over again; 'My poor Erik'.

Erik realized then, just how _happy, _part of him was to have his head resting against Christine's breasts, even if there were multiple layers of fabric separating their skin. Glad that he was already in bed, and wouldn't have to get up and let her see that, he sighed, choosing to ignore the voice that screamed at him to take her and show her what he could do, and allowed himself to take comfort in her caring arms. And besides, he was feeling a bit too tired for _that _right now. All he really wanted at the moment was to sit there with Christine, just the two of them, and no one else.

"I really am alright, Christine," he muttered. "It's fine. I didn't hurt myself." Christine shook her head, and clung to him, burying her face in his shoulder as she sobbed.

"I'm sorry I brought him here," she whimpered.

"Christine, _mon ange," _Erik whispered, wrapping his arms around her and ignoring the little flash of pain when he moved his left arm. "Christine, please, calm down. It's not good for you to get so upset, with the baby. Christine, hush now. I'm fine. In fact, I am very proud of you for bringing him here, because it showed to me, when you asked him to come another time for _my _sake, how much you've grown, and how sure of your decision you are." Erik gently rubbed her back, holding her close in his arms. "There is nothing to apologize for, my dear Christine. Hush, now. Shhh."

Christine just continued to clutch his shirt, and sob. Sighing, Erik rested his chin on her head, and fought his own tears. It seemed, in some way or another, he was always making her cry.

A song he'd heard long ago, sung somewhere during his life, and remembered through a haze - whether it was illness (or perhaps that poison in Persia?) he wasn't sure - came back to him then, and with it, that distant memory.

_/flashback/_

_Erik wandered in the dark. He felt hot and cold all at once, and there was such _pain! _He didn't know where he was going, or why, but he felt lost, afraid. How old was he? Seven? Eight? He didn't know. For all Erik knew he could have been over one hundred._

_As he wandered, he heard a fain, quiet voice singing somewhere. A male's. His father, perhaps? No, no, his father was dead. And so was Giovanni, whoever that was._

_But the song spoke of life.... and home, so Erik decided to follow it, listening carefully to the peaceful, gentle strains._

_"Well, it's not hard to see  
Anyone who looks at me  
Knows I am just a rolling stone  
Never landing anyplace to call my own  
To call my own_

_Well, it seems like so long ago  
But it really ain't you know  
I started out a crazy kid  
Miracle I made it through the things I did  
The things I did_

_Someday I'll go where there ain't no rain or snow  
'Til then, I travel alone  
And I make my bed with the stars above my head  
And dream of a place called home_

_I had a chance to settle down  
Get a job and live in town  
Work in some old factory  
I never liked the foreman standing over me  
Over me_

_Oh I'd rather walk a winding road  
Rather know the things I know  
See the world with my own eyes  
No regrets, no looking back, no goodbyes  
No goodbyes_

_Someday I'll go where there ain't no rain or snow  
'Til then, I travel alone  
And I make my bed with the stars above my head  
And I dream of a place called home..."_

Christine sniffled, and wondered again what Erik _hadn't _told her about his life.

"Did you ever find that home?" she asked quietly. Erik smiled, and tightened his grip around Christine.

"I did," he replied just as softly. "The moment you told me you loved me." Looking lovingly into Christine's eyes, he pressed his lips to hers tenderly, drawing out the kiss as long as possible, just holding her close.

"Erik," Christine said after a moment. "Do you still want dinner? You do need to eat, if you want to get well."

Erik smiled, and pecked her lips softly.

"Supper would be nice, love, thank you."

Christine smiled, touched his cheek, and stood, walking from the room to go get the food, and arrange it. She returned a few minutes later, and sat beside Erik, placing the tray of food on his lap, and cuddling close against him. She kissed his cheek, and wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder.

Erik ate a bit, then looked at Christine, and pushed the plate toward her.

"Eat, my dearest," he said, a bright smile crossing his face as he kissed her cheek. "You aren't eating for just yourself anymore, after all." He kissed her again, and forked some food, bringing the fork to Christine's mouth.

Smirking, Christine took the fork, and ate. She smiled, and stroked the back of Erik's hand as she leaned her head back down against his shoulder.

"This is nice," Erik breathed after a while. "Exactly what I always dreamed of, but never dared to hope for."

Christine giggled lightly, wrapping her arm around his and entwining their fingers; his almost inhumanly long, and so very pale, her's shorter, and sleek.

"Stranger things have happened," she returned softly.

For a while, they sat in silence, eating and just enjoying each other's company. Erik, for his part, was still quite stunned that this could all be something more than a wild fever dream he was having on his deathbed - or worse, some hallucination, and the willing Christine was really a protesting Nadir - but he did not question it. _Best to let it all just happen, and not jynx it. Enjoy it, Erik. For once in your life, something is going right. Don't spoil it._

After a while, it became apparent that Christine had fallen asleep. Rather than move her - he loved the feel of her head against his shoulder - he wrapped his arm around her, and held her there.

He watched her that night, just sat there, watching her chest rise and fall slowly with her deep, even breathing.

It amazed him that anyone, especially this special creature, this tender angel from God above, could love him. His mother, the gypsies, Luciana, the little Persian slave girl, Jules, Annette, even Giovanni, Nadir, and Garnier; they had all feared or hated him to some degree at some point. But not Christine. She'd even said that she'd loved him all along, just that she hadn't realized it.

_Oh, Christine....._

She should have stayed with the viscount. There was still a chance that he might die before too long. He certainly felt a change in his body, now. There was something, he couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it was there nonetheless. It was almost..... weakness he felt. But he wasn't sure.

It puzzled him, this sense that something was wrong. But he couldn't tell Christine, of course. If she worried too much, she might miscarry the baby, and then, if he did die, she'd have nothing left to remind her of the short time of happiness they'd had.

_Best not to think about it, though, _he told himself in the silence of the room. _Best to forget it, and just enjoy what time you have with her, Erik. _

Sighing, Erik tightened his grip on Christine just slightly, and kissed her head.

"I love you," he whispered into her hair. "You are the music in my life, the light I follow. Lead me from this solitude that nearly drove me mad."

Christine stirred in her sleep, muttered something, and turned toward him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and nuzzling her face into his chest. Erik smiled, and at last closed his eyes, allowing sleep to bring him away.

-

-

"Christine," Erik called softly, gently shaking her shoulder. "Christine!"

As Christine woke up, the softness of Erik's voice turned more to breathlessness, and her eyes snapped open, and she looked at him worriedly.

"Christine," he muttered sardonically, "much as I love you, it might not be a good idea to try and fit on my stomach."

Gasping, Christine uncurled herself, and rolled off Erik, surprised, and embarrassed that she'd done that in her sleep. But it was something she used to do with her father when she was young.

"Erik, I'm sorry," she said gently, stroking his unmasked cheek. "Did I hurt you?"

Erik shook his head.

"No, my dearest," he assured her. "I'm fine, now that I can breathe," he joked.

Christine gasped, and lightly slapped his chest, a little smile on her face as she snuggled close to him. She froze after a moment, and pulled away, darting for the bathroom.

As the sound of retching reached his ears, Erik cringed. _Poor Christine,_ he thought. _She shouldn't have to suffer so... But she said it wasn't bad enough to want medicine. God, please let her be alright._

Walking out of the bathroom, Christine gave a tiny whimper, to which Erik responded by holding out his arms, and smiling sympathetically.

Christine hurried into his embrace, burying her head in the little space beneath his chin, and groaning, eyes shut tight.

Erik gently rubbed her back, holding her gently, mindful of the fact that she might need to vomit again.

"Are you alright now, Christine?" he asked her softly.

"No...." she muttered miserably.

Erik sighed. He hated seeing her uncomfortable, or upset.

"I'll make you something, then," he said, pulling away, and attempting to get out of bed.

"Erik, no!" Christine gasped, grabbing his arm, and pulling Erik back toward her. "I don't want you hurting yourself. Please, rest. I'll be fine. Besides, the nausea will go away in a few months. It's alright."

"Christine," Erik returned, shaking his head, and smiling slightly. "I'm better than I look, or did you forget that I normally look like this?" He kissed her cheek, and pulled away from her grip, standing, and forcing down the bit of pain he felt. "I'll be back in a minute, my dear." Smiling one last gentle smile, Erik left the room to make Christine something to help with the nausea.

A whole week passed in the same way; Erik and Christine would spend their days either in the living room, or Erik's little library, sitting together and enjoying being alone together. Sometimes, Erik would play, and Christine would sing, others, he would tell stories as she sat beside him, her head on his knee as she listened, her eyes trained on his face.

At night, they would lie awake together waiting as long as their strength would allow before letting sleep take their minds, and always, they drifted off, and woke the next morning, in each other's arms.

"I love you," Erik whispered one night, Christine's head on his chest, her eyes closed, though she was awake.

"I love you, as well, Erik," she murmured sleepily. She snuggled a bit closer, and sighed. "My Erik... I hope it will always be like this."

Erik smiled, and kissed her gently.

"It will, Christine," he breathed, gently cupping her cheek. "I swear to you, it will always be just the two of us; just you and I. Forever."

XxX  
Hee, I love chapters like this. They're my favorite to write. I hope you all liked this, and please review!


	8. Looming

By the way; I do not own the song from last chapter. Sorry I forgot to put that in. Oh! And Arilda is mine, too.

Looming  
XxX

A week and a half into their time alone, Christine left long enough to get Raoul. It had been decided between them through letters that Raoul would wait in Christine's old dressing room for her once a week, and Christine would come for him.

There was still tension between him and Erik. Little things he did, hugging Christine in a bit-more-than-friendly way, taking her hand before remembering that she was no longer his. It was quite clear that Raoul would _never _stop loving Christine, even if he _had _accepted that she belonged to someone else. Thus, to keep things from blowing out of proportion, Christine had set Raoul's visits on Monday, when Erik's medicine was at its most potent, having been administered just the evening before.

This time, however, Raoul did none of the usual little, unintentional things that so set Erik off. In fact, he seemed almost distant.

"You don't seem quite yourself, young man," Erik muttered warily, wondering what was behind this change in the viscount.

"Oh?" Raoul shook his head, frowning slightly as he tried to clear his mind. "I hadn't noticed. I apologize. I met the most interesting person, today."

"Who?" Christine asked, eyes shimmering.

Erik smiled fondly at his Christine's attitude. Her pregnancy had made her very emotional. If she wasn't sobbing, curled either on the bed, or in his arms, she was flouncing around, humming to herself, or laughing as she begged him to dance with her about their home. At times, she reminded him of a child, light-hearted and innocent. But the slight bulge in her stomach revealed a beautiful, loving woman who was always ready to care, and comfort, or laugh, and encourage.

Over the past month, that was all she'd done, it seemed; comforted Erik, laughed when Nadir told her some funny story, all but skipped up to meet Raoul, only - as she'd said - to get back to her 'precious, dearest Erik'.

She had flitted happily throughout every minute, and though she'd only been pregnant for two and a half months, and Erik and she were soon to be married, Erik could sense that something was wrong. There was a deep foreboding cloud looming on their horizon. He could feel it. He had become incredibly protective of Christine in the last three weeks, since the fearsome presentiment of some doom had come to him; he had not let Christine out of his sight unless she went to retrieve Raoul, he had kept her as calm as possible, made her eat as much as she could comfortably stomach, refused to let her do too much around the house. He would not lose her.

Raoul's voice brought Erik from his slowly darkening thoughts, and returned him to the present moment.

"Oh, no one of consequence, really. Her name is Arilda. A gypsy at the fair that recently came to town."

Erik balked, and Chrisitne's eye widened. Raoul, and a _gypsy? _That would create more of a scandal than their brief period of love.

"You.... you're _serious?" _Erik asked, almost incredulous. "Gypsies," he muttered darkly.

Christine picked up on Erik's upset instantly.

"I'm sure she's quite nice, Raoul," she said, stalling to try and think up another subject. "Oh! Dinner?"

Erik grinned wryly at the obvious attempt to change the subject, and spare him his darker moods.

"That would be wonderful, Christine," Raoul smiled.

"Yes," Erik agreed cautiously, sensing some of Raoul's old, undying love in his words, and kissing Christine's cheek for good measure, to remind the boy who she was with now. "Dinner would be perfect, _my love."_

Christine noticed the strain on 'my love,' and smiled fondly, rolling her eyes. Erik was likely to never get over his suspicion of Raoul. But so long as it led to no troubles, Christine would simply let nature take its course.

"I have to wonder, Raoul," Christine said as she set out dinner for Erik, Raoul, and herself. "Is the fair you mentioned still here?"

Erik groaned, sensing _exactly _where this was going. She'd want to go, and explore, and oh, how awkward _that _would be.

"Actually, it just left, Though Arilda thought she'd like to stay," Raoul replied. "I'm sorry I didn't think to come sooner and tell you about it."

"Oh, that's all right, Raoul," Christine assured him "Not like it truly matters, anyway, does it?" She turned a bright smile up at Erik, who nodded, wrapping an arm around her waist.

"Not unless you would have wanted to go."

Christine shrugged, and pressed her head against his shoulder.

When dinner was over, they sat in front of a cheerful fire, talking. Erik had insisted Christine have his chair, her being pregnant, and sat beside her on the footstool, Raoul close by on the couch.

"I really must congratulate you again, Christine," Raoul sighed. "You look wonderful."

Christine blushed. She knew better. Her stomach was only slightly round, which, to the uninformed observer, could still pass as fat.

"She's perfect, isn't she?" Erik smiled, kissing Christine's head, and forgetting his instinctual dislike of the viscount. "A child, my love, Christine."

Christine beamed, and snuggled close to Erik's chest. Just then, however, the alarms began to ring, and Erik pulled away to see who had come.

For a while, as he rowed across the lake, Christine and Raoul were left alone.

"You truly are happy here, Christine?" Raoul asked quietly, not looking at her.

"Of course I am, Raoul," suddenly a bit nervous. "Why shouldn't I be?"

"Yes, yes, I forget," the viscount muttered contritely. "You love him. Forgive my impertinence, Christine. But if you ever needed to get away, I would be glad to help you."

Christine shook her head.

"Erik isn't like that, Raoul. He'd never hurt me." After a pause, she spoke again. "We've begun to plan the wedding, Raoul," Christine said dreamily, eyes shinning. "It will just be a small service, with Meg, Madame Giry, Nadir, and you. Oh, I can't wait! In six weeks, Erik and I will be wed!"

Raoul sighed. How he wished it was him marrying Christine. But she'd made her choice. Erik was good to her, and she loved Erik. He would always love Christine, but she was his no more; would never be his; probably never _was, _anyway_. _But that did not concern Raoul anymore. In the past two and a half months, Raoul had seen no sign of the anger, and seeming madness that he had on the first night he'd met Erik. Perhaps it really had been only complete desperation and heartbreak.

"Raoul?" Christine called, wondering why he'd gone so silent suddenly.

Raoul shook his head as he pulled away from his thoughts. "Nothing, Christine," he said quietly. "It's nothing."

The door opened then, and Christine swung around with an excited look, and rushed to the door when Erik entered, followed closely by Nadir.

"Erik!" she cried, throwing her arms around him. "You took so long! You didn't hurt yourself?"

Erik shook his head, and kissed her gently, trying not to laugh. He'd learned early on that Christine's hormones were nothing to laugh at.

"I'm perfectly fine, my dearest," he assured her. "In fact, I hurried, to make sure I did not worry you."

"It's good to see you again, Christine," Nadir said with a smile. "You're glowing."

Erik laughed full and deep, taking Christine in his arms.

"Isn't she?" he beamed. "Isn't she, Raoul?" Erik asked, turning to the viscount sitting by the fire. Raoul smiled, a bit wryly.

"Yes, you can see it most in her eyes," he agreed quietly.

"Nadir," Christine smiled. "Would you like tea? I was just about to make some for the rest of us."

"That would be lovely, thank you."

Erik smiled, and led Nadir further into the room.

"How have you been, Erik my friend?" the Persian asked, grinning.

"Fine, Daroga, fine," Erik laughed. "Christine is incredible, though. I tell her to take it easy, she begs me to dance! Oh, she's wonderful."

Raoul sighed.

"She is, isn't she?"

Erik nodded, and leaned back against the couch, eyes closed. He was just in too good a mood to even notice the loving undertone in the viscount's voice. Christine's happiness with _him, _of all people, had sent Erik into a daze more intoxicating, more peaceful, more caressing and comforting than any morphine. In fact, he realized idly, he hadn't used any since the night she'd come back to him. Since that night, he'd found that all he needed was Christine.

"Tea's ready," Christine called lightly, walking into the room, and pressing a cup into everyone's hands, then taking her own. Turning the light chair around - Erik cringed when she moved it, warning her to be careful - she sat facing her loved ones.

Ayesha wandered through the room, and leaped lightly onto Erik's lap, and curled herself into a ball. Erik smiled, kissed her head and stroked her soft fur.

"You missed dinner, Nadir," Christine pouted.

The Persian shook his head, waving off Christine's comment.

"I ate at home, Christine," he assured. "Tea is plenty now."

"I'm afraid I _still _haven't quite gotten the hang of the samovar, even _with _Erik teaching me," Christine muttered, frowning into her tea.

"Now Christine," Erik comforted. "Your tea is _fine, _my dearest. It doesn't matter if it tastes professional. It's better than the first time, at least."

Nadir and Raoul laughed, and Christine lightly smacked at Erik's arm. Erik dodged, and lifted her off the seat, sitting in her place and pulling her onto his lap in one swift movement.

Suddenly dizzy, Christine groaned, and slid from Erik's lap, into a heap on the floor.

_"Christine!"_

Raoul and Erik had moved forward at the same time, but Erik moved quicker, pulling Christine into his arms, feeling pressure and fear beginning to build in his chest.

"Christine!" he gasped, gently shaking her shoulders, and pushing her hair out of her face. "Oh God, _Christine! _Wake up, Christine! Christine!"

"There is no god but Allah, and Muhammad is his prophet," Nadir muttered, eyes wide, face pale. This couldn't be a good sign.

Christine frowned, and her eyes slowly opened. Erik let out a strangled moan of relief, and pulled her tight against his chest.

"Erik, what....?"

"Hush, Christine," Erik breathed, tears still rolling down his face. "Stay quiet. It's all right, now. Shh."

"But, what -?"

"You passed out," Raoul whispered, ghostly white. "Are you all right, Christine?"

"Of course," Christine assured them, but her voice was fainter than usual, and Erik especially could see that she was pale, and she was lying, almost limp, in his arms.

"You should rest, my dearest," he said shakily, standing with her in his arms. "I'm sorry, Nadir... Raoul. Perhaps next week?"

Nadir nodded, and led a reluctant Raoul out of the house, and back up to the surface.

Trembling slightly, and terrified, Erik carried Christine into the Louis-Phillipe room, and laid her gently on the bed. He sat beside her on the edge of the bed, and stroked the hair back from her face.

"Oh, Christine," he breathed raggedly. "Christine...."

When he let out a weak sob, Christine reached out and pulled away the mask, gently resting a hand against his cheek as she sat up, then wrapped her arms around Erik's shoulders.

At the contact from Christine, Erik broke and pulled her close, apologizing, and crying, and promising that he would never touch her again.

"This is _all _my fault," he rasped through his tears. "I-I knew better than to ever think of having a family. I _knew _the _curse _on me would continue. God, Christine, forgive me."

"Erik," Christine said gently, pulling away and holding his face in her hands. "Erik, it's not your fault, I was tired. You''ve been right all along, every time you said I should rest, you were right, and I should have listened. I'm sorry for worrying you, my love."

"Christine," Erik sighed, kissing her, and pulling her close. "I thought for a moment.... Oh, _mon ange... _Don't ever leave me..... Please, not like that...."

Christine smiled gently, and kissed his cheeks where the tears had fallen, and light pink trails marked their progress down his face.

"I'm fine now, Erik," she assured. "Lay down with me. You don't look well."

Erik gave a weak, nervous laugh.

"I thought you were dead in my arms, Christine," he reminded her quietly. "I daresay you would look a sight worse if our places had been reversed."

He made to get up, but Christine caught his arm, and looked at him imploringly.

"Please, Erik," she begged. "Rest a bit. You're upset. And you know that's not good for your health. Please. I'm all right. Lay beside me for a little."

Erik relented, and crawled under the blankets, holding Christine close.

They lay there for a while, until Erik noticed Christine was getting sleepy.

"We should change, Christine," he muttered. "It isn't good for you to sleep with that corset on."

Christine nodded tiredly, and stood, walking to the closet, and changing into a night-shift while Erik pulled of his shirt, and sat on the bed to wait for her.

When Christine turned back around, it was as if she'd never seen the multiple scars that crisscrossed Erik's thin chest. She gasped, her hands flying up to cover her mouth, and tears welled in her eyes. She moved quickly to Erik's side, and examined the old welts and cuts.

"Why?" she whispered. Erik had lost count how many times she'd demanded of fate why it had been so cruel to her Erik.

"It was long ago, Christine," Erik said gently. "These scars are all from a past that no longer matters, now that I have you."

In a week's time, Christine was in about the same condition as the night when Raoul and Nadir had last come to visit. Erik, on the other hand, was in a considerably _worse _state.

He was shaking, and pale, and paced constantly, and no matter what either of the two other men said, they could not get Erik's mind off what troubled him; Christine had begun to bring up bits of blood with her morning sickness, and she'd passed out again. At the time when Nadir and Raoul arrived, she was resting, having passed out only the previous evening, and was still considerably tired.

"Something's wrong," Erik worried, pacing. "It's the baby, I _know _it! This is all my fault."

After a moment of silent pacing, Erik turned to Raoul with an annoyed glare.

"You should _never _have let her return here!" he growled. "You promised to take care of her!"

"She wasn't happy, Erik," Raoul returned rationally, hoping Erik would calm down enough to see the truth; Christine was happy only with Erik at her side.

"And you expect me to think she's happy _here? _Like _this?" _Erik scoffed. With a frustrated gesture, he dropped into his chair, and hid his face in his hands.

"We could take her to London," Raoul suggested. "The city is known for its great doctors, especially Dr. Lister of King's. Perhaps he would know how to help."

Erik shook his head. "The journey alone would be likely to kill her."

"It's still our best chance, Erik," Nadir agreed. "And I'm sure we could secure good passage for the four of us."

Erik's head snapped up. "You two, as well?"

"Technically, three," Raoul muttered. "I'd like for Arilda to come along."

At that moment, the alarm rang, and Erik looked up. He checked the torture chamber to see Antoinette, and Meg Giry standing there, Meg's mother tapping at the glass impatiently. With a confused, surprised frown, Erik pressed the mechanism, and let the two women in.

"How on earth did _you _two find your way here?" he asked incredulously.

"Raoul told us Christine was unwell, monsieur," Meg said timidly. "Are you _really _the Opera Ghost?"

"I _was," _Erik replied awkwardly.

"And, Bouquet..."

"Meg!" Madame Giry snapped warningly.

"Bouquet's death was an accident," Erik stated flatly. "He found the..... room, just as you did. Fortunately for the two of you, I was here."

"Where is Christine?" Madame Giry asked worriedly.

At Antoinette's words, Erik's mood dropped, and the concern flared up to the forefront.

"She- she's resting," he muttered. "Did Raoul tell you she was with child?"

Meg nodded.

"It's wonderful. Though I certainly hope it isn't the baby doing this."

Erik cringed.

"I fear it is," he whispered, voice starting to shake slightly. "Christine and I, Nadir, Raoul, and his new lady friend, Arilda, are going to London to see a doctor."

"We'll come, as well," Meg piped up.

Madame Giry smacked her forehead.

"Meg, the poor girl will need space, not a load of people pouring over her every moment. I daresay those already going will be company enough."

Meg sighed defeatedly.

"May we at least see her now?" she asked.

Erik nodded, and pointed in the direction of the Louis-Phillipe room. He would have followed them, but seeing Christine in such a condition was always almost too much for him.

He knew in the end, something was going to come of this. Somehow, Erik knew something would be permanently changed in his life with Christine. They were going to lose someone, or something, he was sure of it. So long as it wasn't Christine or the baby, though, it wouldn't matter.

XxX  
And that's the chapter. I hope you all liked it. Review, please!


	9. Leave the Past Behind

So. For those who haven't read Kay's book, in the very end, during Raoul's epilogue, he mentions that Christine had a really difficult pregnancy. I decided to follow that, though not to quite that extent as I think the severity of her troubles had to do with her missing Erik so much. Thus, Christine has a very hard time with the baby.

Anyway; on with the story!

Leave the Past Behind  
XxX

"Christine?" Erik called softly, standing in the doorway to Christine's room. "Are you ready?"

Erik had talked to her over the last week, and she'd agreed, eager to see another country, and find some new grand adventure.

Christine turned from where she'd been closing off her suitcase, and beamed, walking eagerly to Erik's side, and kissing him, leaning against him, so that he would hold her in his arms. He'd been doing that a lot, lately, and, needless to say, she loved it.

"Come, then, _mon ange," _he said quietly, leading Christine into the main room, where most of their things were packed into bags. They wouldn't be returning for at least a few months, if ever. All Erik's books, and his herbs and mixing tools were packed in separate cases. Ayesha sat, stiff, and on end in a carrier, making little nervous groaning noises.

Erik gathered one load of their things, and took Christine's arm, leading her up and out the Rue Scribe exit.

He had her wait in the carriage while he went back for the rest of their things, then climbed in with her, and they set off, first for the Rue de Rivoli, and Nadir, then for the others.

Nadir climbed into the carriage, Darius close behind, and Erik was quite glad that fate had been on his side when he flagged down that brogham. There weren't many as big as this one, and Erik didn't want to risk being seen by too many people.

Their next stop was Madame Giry's. Meg and Christine had managed to convince Antoinette that they should come along, and so the girl and her mother climbed in as well.

Raoul and Arilda were picked up last, and Erik found himself wondering why anyone had made a carriage this large, at the same time thanking fate and God that _someone _had.

Arilda was a pretty girl, with reddish-blond hair, and soft hazel eyes. She looked at Raoul with obvious affection, which made Christine feel warm and fuzzy. The look the young German gypsy gave Raoul was the same look she'd given Erik many times over the last ten weeks.

"England," she sighed. "Won't it be wonderful?"

Erik nodded, and kissed her. Everyone had their own thoughts of the country. They'd never been there before, and they had only a vague idea of what to expect from English visitors to the opera from time to time.

But Nadir was hardly worried. Erik had, as he'd taught him French years ago, taught him English, and things were slowly becoming that much easier. Christine, Meg, and Madame Giry already knew some, and Arilda insisted that she would pick it up with time.

The ride out of Paris was mostly silent, each person thinking of moments and memories in that grand city.

But that was the past. They were moving on, now.

For the most part, Christine stared out the window. It was a week's journey from Paris to Calais by carriage, then an over-night trip on a ferry to Dover, and from there, three more days to get to London. In all, it would take nearly a fortnight to get there, then another few days to get a home, and contact Dr. Lister. But Erik would not lose Christine.

-

They did not stop til nightfall. Erik was almost overly cautious with Christine, staying close at her side, and guiding her up to their room. The hotel they stopped at was the only one in the small town, and it was a miracle there were enough rooms for all of them (even without a ton of other visitors, the place was small).

Erik had Christine sit by the fire, and he pulled up a chair beside her.

"Are you feeling all right?" he asked gently, taking her hand, and kissing her fingers.

"I feel fine, Erik," Christine smiled. "Just a little tired."

Erik tensed, and his eyes filled with concern.

"Then to bed, Christine," he said worriedly. "It _is _late, love."

"If I go to bed, Erik," Christine bargained, "will you? You'll work yourself into another attack with all your worrying. I'll be all right, I promise. Come to bed with me?"

Erik nodded, and pulled her to her feet, leading her to the bed, and laying her down, before settling in beside her. He pulled the blankets up over them both, and held her in his arms.

"Good night, Christine," he whispered, kissing her softly. "Sleep."

"I love you Erik," Christine murmured, snuggling into his chest, and closing her eyes.

Erik smiled faintly, wishing they had never had to leave Paris. But it was for Christine's life. If something were wrong with the baby, or Christine's ability to carry it, it could mean her life if they did not get to someone who could help her.

In the next room, Meg, Antoinette, and Arilda were settling down as well.

"How long have you known Christine?" Arilda asked idly in a heavy German accent. She'd noticed Christine's kindness, despite her strange distance today, which could almost be attributed to exhaustion.

"We met when I was little," Meg replied. "Christine's father had recently died, and she came as an orphan to the opera house, and the Conservatoire."

"She'll be all right after this, won't she?"

"I hope," Madame Giry muttered, settling herself on one of the three beds. "Get some sleep, girls. We're leaving early in the morning."

"Good night, Maman," Meg said quietly, settling into the bed she and Arilda shared.

In the room he shared with Nadir, Raoul paced and muttered worriedly.

Sighing tiredly, Nadir sat up in his bed, abandoning his attempts to sleep for the moment, and looked to the young viscount.

"Go to sleep, monsieur," the daroga said. "I daresay it wouldn't help matters to have you ill come morning as well."

Raoul gave a frustrated groan and turned to face the Persian.

"That's just it, though," he exclaimed. "I can't sleep! Not knowing that Christine may be in true trouble with this baby. I know she is not mine, nor ever _will _be mine, but I will always love her."

Nadir looked at Raoul with sad eyes. The poor boy was taking Christine's condition as badly as Erik, if not worse.

"Go to sleep," he said again. "You'll feel better for it."

Raoul nodded defeatedly, and sank into the other bed, facing the window, and pulling the covers over his body.

_God, protect Christine, _he thought worriedly, praying that his childhood friend, the person he held dearest to his heart, would survive.

-

Erik held Christine's hair back with one hand, the other helping to support her as she retched into the toilet. He was shaking almost as badly as she was. Christine had never been sick for this long. Usually, once or twice was enough, but this was the fourth time in a minute that she had started heaving. Only, this time, nothing came up but a bit of blood-streaked bile.

When he was sure she was not going to vomit again, he pulled her into his arms, and held her.

"Are you all right, Christine?" he asked shakily, worried. Gently, he stroked her hair, holding her close against his chest, and ignoring the slight pressure he felt behind his ribcage.

Christine moaned, and shook her head against his shoulder, fighting tears. This time, the vomiting hurt her throat, and just swallowing was painful. She stood from Erik's embrace, and turned to the sink, pouring herself a glass of water.

"Christine?" Fear tinged Erik's quiet voice, and his heart filled with dread.

Christine turned, and flashed him a tired smile.

"Shall we get dressed?" she said quietly, reaching up to touch his unmasked face tenderly before stepping past him into the bedroom. She moved to pull on a corset, but Erik's hands on her wrists stopped her.

"You're pregnant, my darling love," he reminded her. "You shouldn't wear that. Not only could it hurt the baby, but with your...."

He couldn't say it. The words physically wouldn't form. They caught in his throat, slowly choking him. Then Christine's arms were around him, her head against his chest.

"Please don't worry so much, Erik," she whispered. "Many women have some trouble with their first child. There's no need to worry so."

"There is _every _need to worry about you!" Erik replied, shocked that she didn't seem to understand how much her death would crush him. "If _anything _happened to you...... _God, _Christine!" A sob broke free, and he clutched her close, breathing in the soft scent of her hair; flowers, and sunshine. "I would _die _without you..."

Christine pulled back enough to look up at him, and gently cup his face. He'd put his mask back on, and Christine wished he didn't have to wear it.

"I'll be fine, Erik," she said steadily, looking straight into his pale-gold eyes, her hand still on his cheek. "You'll see, my love. I'll be all right. I won't ever leave you." She leaned up to kiss him, and her arms went around his neck. Erik gave a quiet moan, and deepened the kiss, wrapping his arms around her waist, and lifting her slightly off the ground.

Christine smiled when Erik lifted her up, but then the dizziness came, and she whimpered.

"Erik," she gasped. "Erik, put me down, _please!" _

Confused by Christine's sudden change of attitude, Erik let her down, wondering just what was wrong.

"Christine?" he asked. _Did I do something wrong?_

Christine whimpered, and leaned against him, her knees buckling as she almost passed out. Erik grabbed her by the shoulders to steady her, then guided her to the edge of the bed, trembling, and wide-eyed with fear and worry.

"I knew this was the wrong idea," he whispered, starting to pull back the blankets. "You rest, I'll go tell the others that we are going home."

Christine touched his shoulder, causing him to turn back to face her.

"No, Erik," she said softly. "We have to go to London. Please? It would be better for our child to grow up away from the rumors and the stories. In London we can _all _start over."

Erik sighed, but relented, and after a moment, they were walking down the stairs, Erik close at Christine's side in case anything else happened, to meet the others.

As soon as they'd all eaten, they set out again, Erik leading Christine carefully by the arm - much to Christine's annoyance; she wasn't going to pass out just from walking from the inn to the brougham - to the carriage.

When everyone's things were entirely packed up, they started out again. Again, the carriage ride passed mostly in silence. They stopped for food - at Erik's pleading insistence - whenever Christine was hungry. It was sweet for those who knew him to see him so concerned for Christine. Nadir had to smile at the idea.

By mid-afternoon, rain began to pour down, beating against the carriage. It dampened their spirits, and turned the road to bumpy, rutted mud. Christine clutched Erik's hand the entire time, groaning when the brougham went over the worst of the bumps. Erik held her close, rubbing her back, and humming softly.

"Go to sleep, Christine," Erik suggested gently. "You'll feel better for it."

Christine looked up at him with hopeful puppy eyes.

"Will you sing?" she asked faintly, looking incredibly tired. Erik smiled fondly, and kissed her forehead.

"Of course, _mon amour."_

The quiet tenderness in his voice had Christine already on the verge of sleep, and she closed her eyes, leaning her head against his shoulder as she listened to him sing.

_"Sleep on, gentle rose,  
hear the nightingale's song.  
In the garden where she grows,  
for her the bird sings on._

_Peace for, you sweet love,  
I pray in gentle words.  
Sleep with the stars above,  
hear the song of the birds."_

Erik's voice was soft, barely audible even in the quiet of the carriage. He muttered the words into Christine's hair, as he rubbed her back, and held her against his shoulder.

_"Love is for us, my dear,  
trust, love, in me.  
Soon, you will see, my dear,  
I love you endlessly._

_Sleep for now, my love.  
Let your mind find peace.  
Dream, dream of snow white doves,  
and please, love, think of me._

_Night bird, loves you so.  
Sleep safe within my wings.  
I care much more than you know,  
See what the morning brings."_

"You're so good to her," Meg muttered absently after a moment.

"I love her," Erik whispered, careful to keep quiet and not wake Christine. She shifted in her sleep, stirring slightly, and snuggling closer to Erik's side. She mumbled his name, and smiled faintly. Erik turned, and softly kissed her head. "My Christine," he breathed into her hair, smiling himself.

Christine slept the rest of the way. By the time they reached the next town, and the inn they would stay at, the rain was, if possible, coming down harder than ever. Erik frowned, but gently shook Christine's shoulder, calling in a caring, tender voice.

"Wake up, my dear," he whispered. "We're stopping. Come, Christine, wake up."

A tiny bit of panic had entered his voice. Christine was usually very easy to wake.

"Christine?" he tried a little louder. This time, her eyes fluttered, and she frowned, slowly pulling out of sleep.

Christine smiled when she saw Erik.

"We're stopping for the night," he said softly. "Come on, darling."

Erik wrapped his cloak around her, and guided her quickly after the others into the inn. Despite his haste, they still both got soaked. Erik lead Christine straight up to their room, and proceeded to fuss over her for the next nearly half an hour.

He helped her dry off, and change into warm, dry nightgown, and sat her in a chair close to the fire, then draped a blanket around her shoulders. He left for a moment, and returned with two cups of hot chocolate. He pressed one into her hands, and pulled another chair up beside Christine's.

Christine looked at him worriedly, and reached out to touch his cheek. His skin was colder than usual and clammy, and his dark hair and clothes were still damp.

"You should change, as well, love," she said worriedly.

Erik shook his head, smiling, and leaning over to kiss her.

"I'll be fine," he assured her.

Over by the bed, Ayesha mewed in her cage, and Erik stood, walking to his pet, and taking her from the cage. He brought her back to sit by the fire with them, and held her close, stroking the cold fur.

"I'm sorry you couldn't ride with us inside the carriage, my darling," he cooed. "But Nadir doesn't like cats much." He kissed the little Siamese's head, and stroked under her chin.

"Poor thing must have been quite lonely," Christine mused, stroking Ayesha behind her ears.

Leaning against Erik's arm to reach Ayesha, Christine could feel the wetness of his shirt.

"You _really _ought to change, Erik," she worried, gently rubbing his arm. "You're soaked."

Erik smiled fondly and cupped her cheek.

"It's all right, Christine," he said again. "I'm fine. You just stay calm and under the blanket. Don't worry about me, my dear."

He kissed her softly, and pulled her, blanket and all, into his arms, and carried her to the bed.

"Get some sleep," he urged softly, stroking back her hair, and resting his hand against her face.

"You, too," Christine returned, taking his hand, and giving a gentle tug. "You'll fall sick if you don't take care. I don't want you to be sick."

Erik smiled at her concern. But if laying beside her would help ease her worry, he would do it for Christine.

He pulled away from Christine, and took off his shirt and shoes, then climbed into bed beside her, and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to his chest.

"Good night, _mon ange," _breathed into her hair. "I love you so, Christine."

"And I love you, Erik," Christine replied, kissing him softly.

Erik smiled, and closed his eyes, holding her tighter to him.

_My sweet rose... My Christine..._

_-_

Christine frowned as she sat next to Erik. The rain was still pouring down outside the carriage, and the road was a mess.

"I _told _you this would happen," Christine sighed.

Erik glared weakly, and coughed. Fortunately, it was only a little cold, and because they'd caught it so soon, Christine was sure he'd be himself again by the day after tomorrow.

Sighing, Christine ignored the rules of proper society - again - and pulled Erik down so that he was lying on the seat, his head in her lap. Tenderly, she stroked his hair back, and hummed a quiet song.

Erik cringed when the brougham went over a particularly large bump, and Christine cooed sympathetically, gently rubbing his chest through his shirt, hoping the tender contact, along with the loving, soft song, would put him to sleep.

After a while, Erik's eyes slid closed and his slightly wheezy breathing evened out.

_He looks so weak, _she thought, _lying there, all wrapped in blankets, and my cloak. Oh, God, _please _don't let him be so weak through our whole marriage. God, let him recover..._

"Don't worry, Christine," Nadir said softly, as though he'd read Christine's thoughts. "I've seen him pull through worse. Do you remember what I told you about the Persian poison? The amount was deadly, and yet, he survived. Have faith in him, Christine."

Christine nodded wordlessly, and continued to watch over Erik. She stroked his hair back from his warm forehead, and sighed.

-

By the next evening, Erik was better. He had gotten over the cold quickly, but spent the evening lying in bed with Christine, holding her close, and talking about what may come for them in the future.

"I'm sure we'll still find a priest before your time," Erik said softly, stretching slightly, and shifting to bring Christine closer to him.

"Either way, we'll be married," Christine replied, snuggling closer to Erik's chest. "I _will _be yours, Erik."

Erik laughed lightly, and kissed her cheek.

"My dear," he smiled in the dark, "I believe you already _are."_

Christine grinned and stroked his arm.

"Wonderful," she muttered, sleepy. Erik smirked at her tiredness, and kissed her again.

"Close your eyes, and sleep, _mon ange," _he breathed, resting his head against hers, and closing his own eyes. "I love you...."

XxX  
That's that. I hope you all liked the chapter. More to come soon, I promise. Review, please!


	10. On the Wind, Cross the Sea

On the Wind, Cross the Sea  
XxX

The rest of the week was quiet, and calm. Erik got over his cold within a day, and by the next evening, the rain departed entirely, and the sun shown down on their carriage through a rain-washed sky with a few, wispy clouds.

Christine sighed as she leaned against Erik's shoulder. She was incredibly chipper for some reason - Erik was inclined to think it was the hormones - and she was humming softly.

"We'll be in Calais soon," Raoul said off-handedly.

Erik gave a quiet 'hmmph,' nodded, and returned his attention Christine. He would never say in out loud, but he was quite scared for her. In the last couple of days, the fainting spells she'd started having two weeks before they set out had returned, and picked up intensity. Oh, not by very much, but Erik, ever vigilant, and protective, had picked up on it in an instant.

"I vwonder vwhat London vwill be like," Arilda sighed. "I've never been there before."

Christine smiled at the other girl. "Neither have I," she replied excitedly. "Oh, I can't _wait!" _Turning to Erik, she clutched his arm eagerly. "We'll have to see the palace, of course, and Hampton Court, we'll go to Hyde park, and Erik, wouldn't you like to see St. Paul's Cathedral? Papa once went to London. I'm told he went for his honeymoon with my mother. He told me all about it! Won't it be great?!"

Erik had to smile at her excitement, but this was hardly a vacation. Everyone, depending on how long they'd known the girl, was concerned. This was for her health, and that of the unborn baby.

"After the child, perhaps," Erik whispered, cupping her cheek, then kissing her hand. "You must take it easy until the baby's birth, my dear. I don't want to see you hurt. And certainly, it would be heartbreaking if you lost the baby."

Christine's mood seemed to swing completely around, and her eyes shown with unshed, frightened tears as her face darkened with concern.

"You're talking so strangely," she whispered, brushing her fingers over the mask. "What do you mean? Erik, you're not..... you can't......" _Die._

Erik hushed her with a soft kiss, and wrapped his arms around her.

"I'm perfectly all right, my dearest Christine," he assured quietly. "I'm fine. I only meant that I would not wish you to lose our child, my love. You know I would be hurt, too. I apologize if I frightened you, _mon amour. _Please, don't put any meaning behind my words. I really am fine."

Christine's mood shifted again, and she smirked slyly, then moved his mask just enough to kiss his lips without the porcelain getting in the way.

Arilda watched the intimate moment and frowned slightly. She had been good so far, but she was really beginning to get curious about the mask Erik was always wearing. It covered the majority of his face, leaving only the lower lip, and part of his left cheek exposed. She wondered what he was hiding.

"We're entering Calais, masters," the driver called down.

Christine perked up at once, and stared excitedly out the window. Erik rolled his eyes, smiling fondly. It was just another village, but, of course, because it was so close to England, in Christine's mind, she was ecstatic.

"Two days and we'll be in England," she breathed, eyes shimmering. Erik wrapped an arm around her, and held her as he gently kissed her head.

"I love you," he murmured into her hair.

The truth was, he'd been extremely worried the entire trip. His stomach had been in knots since she'd first fainted back in the house below the opera, and more often than not, he had felt his heart race with concern and fear the past week and a half. If he lost her now, after everything they'd been through.....

_Don't think like that, Erik. You'll get upset, and you know how that bothers Christine, the poor thing._

Erik sighed and gently rubbed her arm.

"How are you feeling?" he asked softly. That morning, she'd passed out cold just getting out of bed. It scared Erik to no end. He really didn't think he could handle - let alone survive - losing her a second time....

_Erik _stop! his mind screamed. _Quit thinking like this! You _know _it'll only lead to trouble._

But that was the problem. He couldn't _stop _thinking and worrying about Christine, and his mind, in his concern, continuously roamed toward the 'what if's, that haunted him when Christine was asleep, or in silent moments in the brougham. She was all he had. All he'd ever have, save for the baby to come.

_It won't survive if she dies any time soon, _a voice scoffed in his brain.

_Don't _say _that! Don't dwell on 'maybe', or 'what if'. Christine will be fine. She'll survive, so will the baby, and so will you. You'll be a family. You'll finally have a family all your own. A wife to love, a child to teach and care for. You'll be happy if you stop worrying yourself to death over her. She's stronger than she looks, and you _know _it._

"Erik?"

Erik blinked at the sudden sound of Nadir's voice cutting through the silence. He looked at his old friend, keenly aware of everyone's eyes on him.

"Erik, my friend, are you well?"

Erik waved away the Persian's concern, though there was a note of gratitude in his voice when he spoke.

"I am perfectly fine, daroga," Erik replied. "Just lost in thought, I suppose."

"What were you thinking about, my love?" Christine asked, and when Erik turned to look at her, he saw her eyes were wet, tears ready to fall if anything were wrong.

To reassure her, Erik kissed her cheek, gently cupping her face in his skeletal hands.

"About the future," he whispered, smiling slightly. "_Our _future."

_Oh, sure. Lie right through your teeth. You were worrying about her death, fool._

_I'm not going to anymore. She'll live. I _know _she will._

Christine gasped suddenly, one hand going to her stomach. Erik's eyes flew wide, and he looked at her in terrified concern.

"Christine? What is it? Are you all right? You're not...?"

Christine turned to look at him, a slightly bemused expression on her face.

"The baby kicked," she muttered. "The baby kicked me."

Erik's eyes widened more, if possible, and he reached out to touch Christine where her hand rested on the roundness of her stomach. After a moment, he felt a bump against his hand, very slight, but unmistakable.

"Christine....." he breathed, amazed. Christine squealed, and threw her arms around Erik's neck.

"It kicked! She _kicked! _Our baby _kicked!"_

Nadir laughed brightly, happy for his friend. Arilda and Meg shared excited looks, and giggles. Madame Giry smiled nostalgically, and Raoul did his best to not feel jealous.

_I wish it could have been me. And yet, for some strange reason, it matters not when Arilda is there. How very odd._

The carriage pulled to a stop in front of the inn, and they unloaded and went to get their rooms.

The ferry to Dover would leave tomorrow afternoon. Erik had made arrangements before they'd left, and now, all that was left was to pay when they boarded.

Erik smiled, and drew Christine up the stairs to their room. He had a plan to celebrate the development in her pregnancy. It seemed to him incredibly significant that the baby had begun kicking.

Gently, Erik lifted her into his arms when they reached the top of the stairs. Any fear, or concern had been drowned by his amazement that he and Christine had a baby, a baby which, in five months, he would hold in his arms. The realization that this was not somehow just a dream had finally hit, and he had a mind to show her just how glad he was.

The baby's kick had stirred a primitive, paternal, loving in his heart that extended not only to the unborn baby, but to its mother. Christine was strong to be able to support another life inside her. He wanted her to know how much he loved her.

He lay her on the bed, and the look in his eyes gave her the idea. She knew, just by looking at him, what he wanted, and she smirked.

Sitting up, she wriggled out of her dress, corset, and chemise, and lay back on the bed, grinning at Erik.

When he joined her in the bed, she pulled him close, stroking his hair, and whimpering when he gently kissed her shoulder.

"I love you," he whispered, tenderly running his hands down her sides. "I will _always _love you. Only you."

"Erik..." Christine breathed, gently cupping his face.

She gasped, and sighed, smiling as she closed her eyes. She hadn't felt like this since that first night she'd returned to him, when he'd been so near to death. He'd come a long way these last four months, both in health, and personality. He was becoming more and more open, and docile. She'd noticed that little things which used to truly set him off hardly effected more than an annoyed groan anymore.

Gently, Christine stroked her hands over his back. Everywhere she touched she could feel scars crossing the thin, pale flesh. And she could feel just how slight and thin his body really was; skeletal, almost, and yet, he was incredibly strong for such a frail-seeming build.

Her eyes squished shut as he shifted, and she arched up into his movements. They were together, soon to be husband and wife, legally, as well as before God.

Erik pressed his lips to hers, and Christine smiled into the kiss. She loved him more than anything. In that moment, there was nothing in the world but the two of them. Just her, and Erik; her powerful, sensual, _sensational, _dark angel; her nightingale, and her, the shrinking little violet who had at last found the courage of the white rose to love him.

Eventually, strength spent, they lay side by side, breathing hard. Though he would never admit it, Erik could feel his heart racing, and it brought with it a degree of pain. But now that he was calming down, it was slowly fading. He only hoped Christine did not notice the raggedness of his breathing, which was oddly difficult.

"Erik? Are you all right?"

_Damn._

Erik nodded, letting out a squawk that was half breath, half cough. Christine was sitting up, one hand on his shoulder, the other holding the blanket up around her, her eyes dark, and shimmering with concern.

"Erik?"

Erik smiled weakly, hand on his chest as a slight wheeze escaped his lungs.

"I.... I'm all right..... Christine......" he rasped, clearing his throat, and sitting up slowly. "J-just...... have to.... catch my b-breath.."

"You're certain?" Christine's voice was quiet and trembling with concern, and she touched her hand to his where it rested over his heart. "You don't need your medicine?"

Erik shook his head, and reached slowly to cup her face.

"I love you...." he breathed, still a little breathless.

He moved forward to pull her into his arms, and winced as a sharp pain cut through his chest, and he groaned.

"P-perhaps, the medicine... would be a g-good idea," he gasped.

Christine smiled sadly, and pressed the bottle into his hands.

"You'll be all right?"

Despite her attempts at calm, Erik could see she was shaking.

"Of course, my dear," he said softly, taking a drink from the vial. "I'll be fine."

After a moment, he moved forward again, and held her close, laying slowly back down.

"Get some sleep," Erik whispered, kissing her cheek.

"You're sure you're all right?" Christine worried, stroking his cheek.

Erik nodded, flashing her a gentle smile, then kissed her lips, and pulled her so that her head rested on his chest.

"I love you," he sighed, rubbing her back. "Rest, Christine. Go to sleep."

"Will you sing to me?" Christine asked quietly, like a small child. Erik smirked sweetly.

"Of course."

His voice was soft and comforting, and in it, Christine could hear love, and faith beyond measure.

_"If you'll listen, I'll sing you a sweet little song,  
Of a flower that's now drooped and dead,  
Yet dearer to me, yes, than all of its mates,  
Tho' each holds aloft its proud head.  
'Twas given to me by a girl that I know,  
Since we've met, faith, I've known no repose,  
She is dearer by far than the world's brightest star,  
And I call her my wild Swedish Rose.  
_

__

_My wild Swedish Rose,  
The sweetest flow'r that grows,  
You may search ev'rywhere,  
But none can compare  
With my wild Swedish Rose.  
__My wild Swedish Rose,  
The dearest flow'r that grows,  
And some day for my sake,  
She may let me take  
The bloom from my wild Swedish Rose._

They may sing of their roses which, by other names,  
Would smell just as sweetly, they say,  
But I know that my Rose would never consent  
To have that sweet name taken away.  
Her glances are shy when e'er I pass by  
The bower, where my true love grows;  
And my one wish has been that some day I may win  
The heart of my wild Swedish Rose.

_My wild Swedish Rose,  
The sweetest flow'r that grows,  
You may search ev'rywhere,  
But none can compare  
With my wild Swedish Rose.  
__My wild Swedish Rose,  
The dearest flow'r that grows,  
And some day for my sake,  
She may let me take  
The bloom from my wild Swedish Rose."_

Christine giggled sleepily, her mind half in her dreams already.

"Erik....." she slurred, burying her face in his shoulder. "....You smelll pretty."

Of course, she was entirely too tired to notice that Erik had changed the word 'Irish' to 'Swedish,' and Erik had to smile as his own eyes closed slowly.

-

-

They boarded the boat mid-morning the next day. Erik held Christine's arm until they were on the deck, where there was no chance that just losing her balance would send her into the waves. He knew she could not swim, she'd told him so once, and he would take no risks. Not with Christine.

Christine laughed as the ship pulled away from the dock, and pulled Erik to the bow, where she stood, looking out over the ocean, and letting the sea-spray hit her face.

Erik watched her lean into the wind, her eyes closed, a small smile on her lips. She looked beautiful, almost otherworldly, standing there, with her curling chocolate hair billowing over her shoulder like her skirts, her fair face slick with the ocean spray, and the sunlight highlighting her delicate, high cheekbones.

_An angel of Heaven. What am I doing with her?_

A dry grin settled onto his face, and he sighed, gently taking her in his arm, resting his chin on her head.

"I love you," he said softly. "And I wonder why you've stayed. God knows I've done nothing to deserve you."

Christine pulled back, and looked at Erik, gently brushing her fingers over his cheek.

"Erik, that's not true," she said gently. "You may have done some wrong things, but since I've met you, you haven't truly hurt a soul. And I don't think you've ever wanted to." She leaned into him, and wrapped her arms around him, gently rubbing his shoulders. "At heart, you're a good person."

Erik was silent at her words. 'A good person'? Hardly words he would have used to describe himself. He had murdered, he'd stolen, he'd lied, he'd extorted, until the night Christine returned to him, he realized suddenly, he'd been a drug addict, and not cared who it pertained to. In short, he could hardly see what Christine saw in him.

And yet, she _did _see something. Somehow, she saw something good, and decent inside his black and twisted, mangled soul. And she'd latched onto it.

"I love you, Erik," Christine whispered, resting her head against his shoulder, and breathing deep. God help her, she loved him so.

-

-

"Erik," Christine sighed. "I miss Paris."

Erik laughed at the sudden randomness of her confession, and kissed her temple.

"We'll go back, then," he promised her. "When this is all over with. We'll return with our baby."

They stood together at the bow of the ship again, looking out at the cliff that was England. In the gloom, it was nothing more than a black shadow against an even darker night sky, but it still represented the future to the two of them; a turning point of sorts. Soon they would be properly married, and soon they would have a child. They would come to England a couple, and leave it a family.

-

-

It rained again as they rode a carriage from Dover to London. The strength, and power of the storm had put them back three days, and Erik was not pleased. The entire atmosphere in the brougham was tense and pulsating with annoyance.

Meg and Antoinette had argued just the previous night, Erik was concerned for Christine - not to mention a bit put out by her sudden swing to outright anger toward him when the baby gave a savage kick to her liver, apparently (_'This is YOUR fault!' she'd screeched, turning from the room, and leaving him silent, and shocked in the middle of the room) - _and Nadir was incredibly on edge, having come to all sorts of hair-brained conclusions about their moods. Only Raoul and Arilda weren't upset with someone, and even they were quiet, and subdued.

No one said a word as the grey country rolled by. Christine sighed, and Erik tentatively reached out to wrap an arm around her shoulders. She turned her face, and kissed his cheek, then leaned against his shoulder to show she forgave him for, as she'd said that morning, 'giving me such a devilishly strong baby, you.....' (she hadn't been able to come up with a good insult, and had simply trailed off).

The carriage pulled up outside a respectable-looking hotel, and everyone got out. They got their rooms, and retired to them, as it was already well past sun-down, and everyone was tired from the trip. Now that they were in London, everyone, even Erik, seemed in much better spirits. He laughed and kissed Christine's temple lovingly.

"We made it," he sighed, holding her close. "God, I love you."

Christine snuggled close against Erik's shoulder, smiling lazily, and sighing. A warm fire crackled in the fireplace, and she was in an incredibly good mood.

"And I love you," she replied, reaching out to turn his face toward her. She gently untied his mask, setting it on the small end table by the bed, and kissed every inch of his face, from his forehead down, as she had the first night she'd returned to him, when she'd thought for certain he was going to die, and leave her alone (she was incredibly grateful that such a thing had yet come to pass).

"Christine," Erik whispered, suddenly nervous. "When the baby comes, you'll love them, won't you? Regardless?"

"Of....?" Christine prompted, not quite seeing where Erik was going with this.

Erik trembled, reaching out shaking hands to hold hers.

"E-even if they....." he paused, and looked away, closing his eyes as one hand reached up to touch his skull-like face, "look like m-me?"

Christine almost laughed at the absurdity. Erik had not mentioned this insecurity since the day she'd discovered she was pregnant. As it was, thought, she couldn't bring herself to laugh, quite, because of the pained, fearful look on Erik's turned-away face.

Slowly, tenderly, she reached out, and turned his face to hers again, looking dead into his shining yellow-gold eyes, praying that his beautiful eyes would be inherited by their child.

"I will love our child," she said softly, reassuringly. "No matter what. If they look like you, if they have no arms, if they are blind, or deaf. It does not matter, Erik, because they would still be a part of me. She's still a part of me."

Christine's loving, caring kindness was still unnerving to Erik - likely always would be - and he changed the subject quickly, trying to force down the lingering worries in his mind. He remembered quite well the way she'd reacted to _his _face. Who was to say she wouldn't react the same to the baby? Would history repeat itself?

"Again with the 'she'?" he laughed, forcing everything out of his mind.

Christine nodded.

"I still think it's a girl, yes. Does that upset you?"

Erik's eyes widened.

"Of course not, Christine, my dear," he replied quickly, afraid to evoke a mood swing out of her. "I am honored to be the father of whatever child you have. I merely wonder how you know it's gender so soon before it is even born, _mon ange."_

Christine just smiled, and kissed him, closing her eyes.

Erik sighed as he watched her drift to sleep. The pregnancy thus far had been quite difficult, with the fainting spells, and how tired she always seemed. In fact, the only thing Erik was grateful for was that the nausea had at last stopped. If he'd known, though, that it would bring Christine such pain, he never would have let her love him that night. It never would have happened, had he known this would come. He would have simply lain there weakly, let her tell him she loved him, and kiss him softly before letting go, and leaving this world behind him.

But things hadn't happened that way for a reason, he supposed. Maybe this baby was to teach them all something.

XxX  
Done. Next chapter should be up soon, I hope you all liked this one. Review, please!


	11. Everything and Nothing

Everything and Nothing  
XxX

Christine sighed quietly as she lay in Erik's arms. They had just rented apartments last week, with Nadir just across the hall from them, Meg and Madame Giry down the hall to the right, and Raoul and Arilda on the left.

It was rare that Erik slept later than Christine, and she realized that, in some way, Erik was still recovering from that near-fatal attack he'd had back at the opera house so long ago.

At the same time, she knew he would never completely recover. She could see it in the small lines that had been added to his face since that day that had never left, the slightly deeper coldness of his left hand than his right, the way he seemed to stiffen from some slight pain whenever he was upset, or worried, or angry - Granted, he hadn't been truly angry in months, but still.

Right now, it was early morning, and Christine was awake because the baby had kicked her beneath her heart hard enough to wake her. She'd cried out so softly that Erik hadn't even truly heard her. He'd just mumbled in his sleep and drew her closer.

Christine watched him in the silence. The delicate light of early morning seemed to high-light any good features he had; high cheekbones, sloping jaw. His fragile skin seemed almost to glow, and the veins beneath pulsated slightly as the blood flowed through them.

He was turned on his side, facing her, and his thin lips were tipped into a slight sleep-smile. Christine couldn't help but love him, with his hair falling into his face, rather than held back in his usual tight, very short ponytail. She longed to run her fingers through the starting-to-grey, beloved strands, but she didn't have the heart to wake him to satisfy that urge. He'd taken on an architectural job shortly after getting to London, to keep up their money, and Christine knew it was stressing to him.

Often, Erik would come home exhausted, and frayed, angry, and shunned, and saddened, looking for his beloved Christine's warm affection to remind him that not all the world hated him. So long as he had Christine, he'd said often, he would never hide again.

At last, he stirred, and began to wake, his eyes fluttering open to meet Christine's, tired, bleary yellow meeting warm, caring blue.

"Good morning, Erik," Christine smiled. It was Sunday, which meant Erik did not have to go to work today. He could stay home, with her, far away from those suspicious, sometimes cruel men he had to work with.

Though she would never let on, Christine knew that the words and actions of the men at Erik's job bothered him terribly. Every now and again, she would catch him, hands shaking slightly, lifting the bottle of his medicine to his lips, drinking most, if not all, at a time, and lowering his head into his hands. And he only did this when he thought she was not looking. But Erik should have known better. Christine was always watching, always making sure he was safe, and well.

A lazy, sleepy smile crossed his face, and he kissed her gently.

"Christine," he breathed, burying his face into her shoulder and closing his eyes again. It really was too early to be getting up on a Sunday, but he was awake, now, and wouldn't be able to get back to sleep - not that it mattered, so long as Christine was there.

Christine smiled, and ran her fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his face, kissing his forehead.

They stayed there most of the morning, just lying together, holding onto each other, silent, content. Around noon, hunger, and, to be honest, a tiny bit of boredom, led them from their bed.

Christine insisted, as she had every Sunday the last five months, that Erik take his medicine at that time, and when he'd finished it, she reached up and kissed him lovingly, smiling as she leaned into his arms.

"I love you," she sighed, and before Erik could reply, she gasped, hand touching her stomach where she'd felt the jolt. Frantically, and smiling hugely, she grabbed Erik's hand and placed it where her's had just been. The baby kicked again, this time with a little more force. "She wants to meet her father," Christine laughed.

Erik inwardly cringed. Was Christine right? Would their child still love him after she saw him? Or would she cry when he went to hold her? Would she fear him, like every other child he'd met - that could see?

Christine noticed the fearful concern in his eyes, and she sighed.

"This child _will _love you, Erik," she assured him gently. "She's a part of you. She'll understand you better than even I can. She'll love you, _mon amour."_

Erik smiled down at Christine, and pulled her close.

-

-

One day, about a week and a half later, Erik was late coming home. _Very _late. Christine paced worriedly, one hand on her stomach, the other at her mouth in worry. Nadir and the others were all there, waiting with her.

The sun was nearly completely set when Erik returned. The door opened, and there he stood. Christine let out a relieved cry, and fell into his arms, tears falling down her cheeks.

"Oh, _Erik!" _she sobbed. "You were gone so long! I-I thought, that, p-perhaps you ...... Oh, Erik..."

"Christine," Erik whispered gently, stroking her hair. "I love you. I'm so sorry I worried you. I have news."

Christine sniffed, and looked up.

"What?" she asked softly.

"I found someone to marry us."

Christine couldn't speak. From the start, she had always felt that they were married, but she knew that it had to be legal, as well.

A mix of emotions rose inside her, and laughing weakly, she smacked Erik's arm as she wiped at her tears.

"And you couldn't tell me _before _you go and spend hours looking?" she said softly, smiling through her tears.

"We are all glad you are safe, my friend," Nadir smiled.

Erik nodded, and slowly, everyone left, and he and Christine were alone. Erik drew her into the small living room of their apartment, and sat on the couch, pulling her onto his lap, and kissing her tenderly.

"Whenever you wish, my love," he whispered into her ear. "We will meet with this priest and be married right."

Christine sighed. Oh, she loved him. Erik took every measure to make her happy and comfortable. He knew legal marriage was important to her, so he had found the man.

-

-

Two days later, they were in a small chapel, far from the city, with only Nadir and the others to witness. Erik wore one of his better dress suits, and Christine wore a long white dress very similar to the wedding dress she'd worn that night so long ago when Erik had had her sing Aida. As she walked up the aisle, she had the ridiculous urge to begin to sing the recitative.

_My heart foreseeing,  
your condemnation,  
into this tomb  
I made my way by stealth,  
And in your arms,  
far from mortal eyes,  
I long to die._

Erik smiled. He'd always imagined that he'd be very nervous when he married Christine. He'd imagined for so long him standing there, shaking as she made her way uncertainly up to him, only to stop as the door to whatever chapel they were in flew open and Raoul entered to challenge him. In his mind, she'd ran to Raoul in relief, while he stood their, heartbroken, and knowing in his heart she had never truly loved him.

Of course, those horrid imaginings had stopped that night when she'd come to him as he was on his death bed. She'd kept him alive by her love alone. She didn't know how weak he sometimes felt on returning from work. She didn't know how much he had to take his medicine to keep his heart in check.

Today, though, he was endlessly happy. When he turned to look back at her, she was smiling beautifully, and almost hurrying to get to him, the white dress shimmering slightly with her movements.

The dress was a soft, silky material, with delicate beads sewn in. It wasn't technically a wedding dress, but it fit her well. Erik had asked Jules to buy it for her back at the opera house. He felt his heart soar just looking at her; her pale skin glowing, the headpiece of the veil looking for all the world like a halo. An angel. His angel.

Finally, they stood side by side, and Christine reached out to take Erik's hand, beaming at him.

Erik mouthed 'I love you,' and Christine smiled, gently squeezing his hand.

The priest, though nervous and concerned by the mask that covered most of Erik's face, did his best to smile at the two people before him. It was quite clear, somehow, that the girl loved him.

Christine's stomach was full of butterflies. The baby shifted inside her, and she cringed slightly. Erik squeezed her hand, a tiny smirk on his face. Christine's eyes narrowed a bit, then she smiled, and squeezed back.

"If anyone has any reason why not, let them speak now, or forever hold their peace."

Erik tensed. Despite it all, he still worried that that boy might try and stop all this. Erik knew he still loved Christine, and he knew that Raoul de Chagny was persistent. So he was surprised when the room remained silent, and the priest told them they could now kiss as husband and wife.

Shaking slightly, Erik pulled Christine in close, and kissed her long and gentle. She was his. He had won. _Sorry, Chagny. It seems the best man doesn't always win after all. _Christine smiled at him, whispering 'I love you,', and Erik felt like dancing. _Then again, perhaps the right one _did _win this battle._

Christine giggled as they drew apart, and kissed his forehead. Grinning gallantly, Erik picked her up, and carried her down the church toward the doors.

Outside, it was raining, and Erik, uncharacteristically happy, laughed, and spun around, holding Christine close in his arms, her hands clutched around his neck as she shrieked and giggled, face turned up to let the rain fall and kiss her skin where moments before Erik, her husband in every sense, had just kissed and caressed.

After a while, Erik carried Christine into the carriage that waited. The others had already gotten in, waiting and watching as the two played in the rain.

Erik smiled broadly at Nadir, who simply shook his head, rolled his eyes, and grinned. Erik had been in such a good mood since they'd reached London, and especially since they'd gotten the apartments. Everything Erik had ever wanted had come to them, and it seemed nothing could go wrong.

-

-

Erik sighed as he sat on the couch by the fire. Christine had insisted on making them both some spiced tea, despite the facts that she was nearly eight months pregnant, and that Dr. Lister, who they'd finally managed to contact, had said she should not be on her feet much.

Outside, it snowed, and Erik couldn't help but worry about her. Something hadn't been quite right about her the last month. Christine had looked too tired, pale. She'd started to draw away from any kind of bright light, getting headache-y oddly easy.

A crash from the small kitchen had him on his feet and running. When he reached the kitchen door, his heart stopped and his blood froze for a terribly long moment. Then came pain.

Stumbling and half-blinded by tears, Erik dropped at her side, pulling Christine's shaking, twitching body into his arms. He gasped her name, whispering hoarsely that he loved her, fighting the dizzying pull of unconsciousness that threatened black and ominous at the edges of his vision.

After a moment, Christine's trembling stopped, and she whimpered, curling into Erik's side. Erik gasped and his hands shook as he held her, clenching his jaw against the pulsing pain in his chest.

This wasn't supposed to happen. The last three months had been beautiful. They'd gone to a nearby park almost every evening, and though Christine had seemed to tire easily, she'd assured Erik it was only part of the pregnancy.

Panting, Erik tugged Christine into his arms and staggered to his feet, tripping toward the living room and the couch - he highly doubted his strength would last to their bedroom.

He lay her down as gently as his fading strength would allow, and slid to the floor beside her, weakly tugging the throw blanket over Christine's body, and finally allowing himself to give in to the pain, passing out almost instantly as he leaned weakly against the couch, his thoughts on Christine.

When Erik awoke, it was morning, judging by the amount of light coming in through the window. He sat up slowly, clutching his chest and biting back a yell when the pain came again. It wasn't so bad, just an effect of moving too quickly too soon.

Standing carefully, Erik balanced himself against the arm of the couch until he was steady, then fumbled in his pocket for his medicine. He was dimly aware that this shouldn't have happened to him. In fact, the weekly dose had kept back the attacks when he was more upset than this over things elsewhere (God knew he'd gotten far more angry than he'd been frightened last night at his job), but there again, this was _Christine _who was heavily pregnant with _his child. _If anything went wrong, he could lose everything. Again.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Erik bent to check on Christine. Her breathing was deep and even, her pulse steady in her neck beneath his hand, and Erik released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Shaking, and stumbling slightly, Erik made his way into the kitchen. There was a telephone there, and for a moment, he thought of the man who'd made the original, not even ten years ago. Alexander Graham Belle, if he remembered right. With trembling hands, he rang Dr. Lister's number, and begged him to come quickly.

Not a moment later, Nadir was in the room, looking worried, almost as though he knew what had happened.

Erik looked at him from where he leaned back against the wall, struggling to take even breaths.

"N-nadir? What are you...?"

Nadir shook his head.

"I could not tell you how or why, Erik," he said quickly. "But what has happened? Another attack?"

Erik trembled, and moved to a chair at the table, then dropped his head into his hands, taking a shaky breath, and barely holding back his tears.

"She.... I don't know!" He made a helpless gesture, and then the tears came, and he tugged at the mask so he could breathe right. "S.... I thought she was fine! J-just made..... tea.... I-I didn't think she....... And then....... My _God, _Nadir! W-what if carrying...... my child......... _kills _her?!?!"

His voice was filled with terrified despair. He didn't know what to do. He hadn't expected her to just suddenly drop into a seizure like that. Everything had seemed fine, for so long, and now....

"Erik, have you called the doctor?"

Erik jumped up, swinging away, and letting the chair clatter behind him.

"Of _course!" _he growled, fighting to hold in his emotions. "Do you think because I _look _like a monster, I would _act _like one and let her suffer?!"

"I know you better, Erik," Nadir said placatingly. "I know you would call, it was foolish of me to ask. Please, calm down. Having another attack will certainly not help Christine. Where is she now?"

"Resting," Erik sighed, hoping the pressure in his chest would go away. "I put her on the couch.... what else could I do? I couldn't go any farther, I might have dropped her!"

"I am not accusing, Erik," Nadir said gently. "Perhaps you should rest, yourself?"

Erik shook his head wildly.

"No, no. Someone must stay awake, and watch over her. If she had another -.... if that happened again, I don't know what I'd do."

Nadir sighed.

"Erik, my friend. I am here, now. Get some rest. I'll watch Christine."

Erik seemed to drain instantly, and he seemed years older. When he swayed, Nadir stepped forward to steady him, and guided his friend to the bedroom.

"Sleep, Erik," Nadir told him. "When Christine wakes, I will tell her where you are."

Erik nodded, and when Nadir turned around, he dropped onto the bed, panting heavily, and coughed.

Nadir sighed as he sat in a chair close to the fire. He pulled it so he was closer to Christine, and watched her sleep. She stirred after a moment, blinking her eyes, and looking around.

"Erik?" she muttered. She remembered dimly that he had been there after she collapsed. She remembered the feel of his arms holding her, but she couldn't remember if the shaking was all her, or partly him, too.

Nadir smiled when Christine spoke.

"How are you feeling?" he asked gently.

"Fine," Christine replied. She looked around again, this time with a bit of worry and concern in her eyes. "Where is Erik?"

Nadir was silent for a moment.

"He is resting," the Persian replied. "It seems seeing you in a fit so worried him that it triggered his attacks despite the medicine. He'll be fine after a while, though," he added quickly at Christine's terrified, suddenly pale face. "He just needs to rest a bit."

"Where is he?" Christine repeated.

"In your room. I am sure he'd like to know you are all right."

Christine nodded, and hurried into the bedroom, and sat beside Erik on the bed. She touched his hand, intent on holding it in her own, and started at the coldness. Looking him over closely, she could see fine tremors wracking his body. Biting her lip in concern, Christine stood to light a fire in the fireplace. Returning to Erik's side, she gently shook his shoulder. He should change after all, to be more comfortable in his sleep.

He didn't wake, and that worried her. If she hadn't already known he was breathing, she would have panicked. As it was, her hand flew quickly to his neck, feeling for his pulse. It was not quite as strong as usual, but it was at least steady. The flutter was still there, but the rhythm was, for the most part, even and unchanging.

Calm now that she knew he would be all right, she tugged gently at his arms until he was sitting up, and pulled of his vest and shirt, then his pants. She lay him back down long enough to get a nightshirt, and by the time she came back to the bed, Erik's eyes were open partly, and he smiled slowly.

"Christine...." he whispered, eyes shining at seeing her on her feet. "You're all right?"

Christine smiled. "Of course I'm all right. I told you I'd never leave you, and I won't, my love, my Erik." She sat beside him and held out the nightshirt. "Can you put this on?"

Erik nodded and took the long shirt from her, pulling it over his head, and sliding his arms through the holes.

"Get under the blankets," Christine instructed, taking his hand again. "You're freezing."

"I am all right, Christine," Erik replied. "It is you who should rest. I imagine Dr. Lister will be here soon -"

"Erik, you'll fall ill!" Christine gasped, pushing him down and pulling up the covers, tucking them in tightly despite his protests.

That he wasn't batting away her concern, and was merely telling her he didn't need to rest, showed just how exhausted and weak he was. Christine would not have him coming to harm. Not now.

"You must take care of yourself," she continued pleadingly. "You'll be a father soon, Erik love. I cannot raise a child without you. I need you."

Erik sighed. A draft of winter air slid in through a forgotten open window, and Christine jumped up to close it. Returning, she took a warming pan from near the fire, and scooped some clothes into iit, then placed it beneath the blankets for Erik.

"You're colder than _ice," _she explained at his exasperated grunt. "You'll catch your death, Erik."

"I'm _fine," _Erik sighed. While it was nice to know Christine cared, she was worrying too much. He'd taken his medicine, he really felt fine, aside from feeling cold and tired.

There was a knock on the door, and Christine stood, bending to kiss his forehead before she walked out into the living room.

Nadir had gotten the door and Dr. Lister was there. He entered, and Christine offered him a chair, sitting next to Nadir on the couch.

"Your husband called this morning," the man said. He was older, bulky. "He mentioned you had had a seizure of some sort, Madam."

"I- I believe that's right," Christine replied. She didn't really remember it well.

"Is this the first time?"

Christine nodded.

"How along are you, if I may ask?"

"My eigth month," Christine replied.

Dr. Lister sighed.

"I believe then, it would not be too soon to induce labor, and have the child born now." He stood and put his hat and coat back on. "I can come by as soon as is convenient."

Christine thought a moment.

"I'll speak with my husband. If you can wait a moment?"

Dr. Lister nodded, and Christine turned toward the bedroom.

"_Now?" _

"Erik, the doctor says it's safest, the most likely way we'll both survive, the baby and I."

Christine sighed, and sat on the bed.

"I'll be all right, love," she said gently, as she stroked his hair. It seemed to her there was more grey in it than just the other morning. "The baby will live, this way."

"But so _soon?" _

Christine nodded.

"Whenever is convenient, he said."

"Why not Sunday?" Erik suggested, resigned. He didn't want this. He realized now he never should have let this happen. He should have made damn sure he died _before _Christine returned to the opera house that night.

Christine smiled slightly, and kissed Erik's cheek.

"A good idea," she agreed in a subdued voice. This wasn't the best of situations, but she wouldn't have it any other way. She _loved _Erik. And she knew it would have broken her if he'd died before she had been able to reach him that evening back at the opera, eight months ago.

Returning to the living room, she smiled wryly at the doctor.

"Sunday, if you are not busy, Doctor," she muttered, nodding, and trying to convince herself.

"Sunday, then," Dr. Lister confirmed. "I shall see you then, Madam."

XxX  
Yes, I know, it's still dark, and I've been promising a turn-around. Trust me; it _is _coming. Just not next chapter, maybe not even the one after. Remember, though, this story is probably going to have only a few sunshine and roses moments, because it's based mostly off of Kay, with a bit of Leroux (while I adore the 2004 version, I fell in _love, _practically, with Kay's Erik. Poor guy needs a hug more than any of the other phantoms, in my opinion) mixed in. So expect a bit of darkness to linger even after Arabelle is born. Of course, that's not to say anyone _dies _or anything like that. I don't like character death, though I _may _do a story on Kay's ending.

Anyway, light is coming to this story. Review, please!


	12. Answered Prayer

So, I just recently watched the Yeston/Kopit version of Phantom, and it is _so close _to topping Kay's as my favorite. In fact, I think it might have. *pauses to think* Yep, it did... well, almost. Kay's still wins by a bit.

Anyway, on with the story!

Answered Prayer  
XxX

"Erik," Christine said suddenly. It was Friday. In two days, Dr. Lister would return with something that would induce Christine's labor, so that there would be no further risk to her or the baby. "I want a pickle."

_A pickle._

That had to be the most random thing Erik had ever heard. They'd been sitting together, curled beneath a blanket on the couch by the fire after a long day, just sitting with one another, sometimes speaking their love, and Christine had said she wanted a pickle. Erik was fairly sure there could be no connection between love, and a _pickle._

"'A pickle'?" he asked, eyebrow raised (Whenever they were alone, Erik no longer wore his mask, though he vowed to wear it around the baby to keep from frightening her).

"A pickle," Christine stated. Erik felt like laughing.

"Do you even like pickles?" he asked.

Christine tilted her head to the side in thought.

"I'm not sure," she replied. "But I want a pickle. Please?"

"Alright," Erik agreed, getting up and walking into the kitchen to get her a pickle.

When he returned to the couch, Christine gave him a dazzling smile, and took the pickle from him, making sure their hands made contact for a little before she pulled away.

Christine ate the pickle, but only half, offering the rest to Erik, and begging him, for no reason she could think of, to eat some, too. And when he did, she giggled and kissed his cheek.

"I love you, Erik," she whispered. "My Erik."

Erik smiled, and tightened his arms around her, drawing her close to his side as the fire crackled softly.

"And I love you, _mon belle, ange bien-aimé," _he replied just as quietly, kissing her temple, and rubbing her shoulder.

For a long time, they lay together in silence, holding onto each other, happy to be together. The hours ticked by slowly, and neither could have said if it had only been seconds, or centuries that they stayed there, quiet and content with each other.

Finally, Erik noticed that Christine was sound asleep. The way she was positioned, hugging him like he was a stuffed animal, her head snuggled into his shoulder, was enticingly adorable, and Erik gently ran his fingers through her hair, sitting up slowly to not disturb her as he moved to pick her up.

Walking to their bedroom with Christine in his arms, Erik smiled. It was like that first night in the opera house, when she'd fainted, and he'd carried her to bed, singing softly. Only this time, Christine hadn't fainted in fear, she'd fallen asleep in trust and safety, believing rightly that Erik would never hurt her. And how could he? With her head resting against his chest, her arms crossed over her round stomach, she looked beautiful. Her pale skin seemed to glow in the evening twilight, and as he lay her on the bed, Erik gently kissed her forehead.

Once he changed, Erik joined his wife, and pulled her sleeping body close to his, needing only to feel her beside him to be sufficiently at peace enough that he would not dream, tonight.

For tonight, he could pretend nothing was wrong with Christine. For tonight, he could pretend there was not going to be a tomorrow night, which he doubted very highly he would be sleeping through at all.

In the morning, Erik woke first, like usual. He'd managed to contact his work that he would not be able to get there for a few months, but he wasn't worried about money. He'd saved as much as he could, and they could afford to live with what they had for a while, at least until Christine was back on her feet after the birth.

Erik shivered involuntarily at the thought. The baby would be a month early. Hopefully, it would be all right. Hopefully, _Christine _would be all right. Much as he would love the baby, he knew Christine. He already _did _love her, with all his heart. To lose her would shatter him completely, probably even kill him, if he were to be completely honest with himself (God knew thinking he'd lost her to de Chagny forever had nearly finished him off, her death would certainly end him).

In his arms, Christine stirred. Blinking slowly, she opened her eyes, and smiled up at her husband. It still felt incredibly new to her, despite the fact that they'd been married a few months, now.

"Erik," she breathed, smiling faintly, still quite sleepy. Christine curled closer to Erik, wrapping one arm lazily around Erik's thin waist, and buried her face in his chest. She could hear his heart accelerate a bit beneath her ear, and smirked. Even after months together, he still blushed and became flustered whenever Christine displayed her affection to him. Christine found it endlessly adorable.

Blushing slightly at Christine's open, blatant love of him, Erik slowly returned her tired embrace, and after a moment, tightened his arms around her, and rested his chin against the top of her head.

"Good morning, Christine," he breathed, smiling.

"Erik," she murmured again, nuzzling his shoulder.

Erik laughed lightly, running a hand gently down her side, then over her round stomach. The baby kicked hard against his hand, and Christine gasped.

"She's restless," Erik muttered, trying to pretend that he wasn't terrified for tomorrow. "Probably heard us talking yesterday, and can't wait to get out and meet her parents."

Christine beamed.

"Yes!" she cried. "I finally got you to think she's a she! Once both parents believe the baby's gender, that's the gender it will be!"

Erik looked at her, one eyebrow raised, and smiling broadly.

"Where do you get such ideas?" he asked playfully. 'Who has filled your head with such nonsense?"

Christine laughed quietly. She remembered when Erik had been entirely stoic, and wouldn't speak unless it was serious. Over the months, he had changed, though. He was no longer quite so withdrawn, and sometimes - like now - a playful mood would take over him and it was in those moods, when Erik's mask was forgotten somewhere on the floor as he swung her around in a dance, or teased her from the chair next to the couch, that she thought he was truly the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. And when his eyes shown with happiness and love, just for her, he was.

"Erik," Christine muttered, frowning slightly. "If anything goes wrong tomorrow -"

"_Don't!" _Erik rasped, horrified at where she was going with this. "God, Christine, don't. You'll be _fine. _You _must _survive! If you do not, how shall I?"

Christine ran her hands through his hair lovingly.

"You'll find a way, _mon belle ange noir," _she whispered gently. "You'll have to raise our child. Do you promise?"

They were both on the verge of tears, and Erik clutched Christine close against his chest. One arm wrapped tight around her waist, and the other hand cradled the back of her head as he buried his face in her hair.

"I promise," he whispered, kissing her dark curls.

"I love you, Erik," Christine whispered. "Whatever happens, I'll always be with you." She kissed him gently on the lips, and curled in even closer, her arms wrapped around his shoulders.

-

-

Dr. Lister arrived just as Erik went to pick up his medicine off the table. He turned to leave the kitchen, then reached back and slipped the bottle into his pocket just in case (he'd promised Christine if anything went wrong that he would raise their child, so it wouldn't do for him to have a heart attack and die).

Christine was lead into the bedroom by the doctor, and Erik moved to follow, but was stopped by the other man.

"I am sorry, sir," Dr. Lister said. "It would be better for you to stay out here."

Anger flashed in Erik's eyes. He _had _to stay with Christine!

"The hell it would!" he snarled, moving to push past the doctor.

"Erik," Christine whispered, walking forward, and reaching up to gently cup his masked face. "I'll be fine. Wait out here, please. It will be easier for you. I've heard about how difficult a woman's labor can be. I promise you, whatever you may hear, I'll be all right. It looks and sounds a lot worse than it is, honestly."

Erik wrapped his arms around her and held her close, taking in a deep, shuddering breath.

"I love you, Christine," he breathed.

Christine looked up into his gold-yellow eyes and gave a tiny, reassuring smile.

"And I love you, Erik," she returned just as softly. "Go. You're looking more out of sorts than me. You must relax."

Erik nodded, and moved away into the living room. Nadir was there, and so were the others. Raoul was looking worried, clinging to Arilda's hand. While the young viscount had come to see that he loved Arilda, it was annoyingly - in Erik's opinion, at least - obvious that Christine would always take the forefront in his heart.

While the others sat, Erik paced. Minutes ticked by, and by the end of the fifth hour, Erik was completely frayed.

"What's _taking so long?!" _he demanded anxiously, worriedly glancing toward the bedroom door. "What if something is wrong?!"

Nadir looked at his friend in concern. Erik was ghostly pale, and shaking slightly. The Persian could see a trickle of sweat drip from under his mask, and he noticed with outright worry and dread that his left hand seemed to have gone numb. Erik kept flexing it, massaging the wrist with his other hand as he muttered and stalked back and forth.

"Perhaps you should sit down?" Antoinette Giry suggested carefully. While the Ghost had always been kind, she had never crossed him, and it had been months since he'd been that person. He was Erik, now, a frightened, concerned first-time father, capable of just about anything.

Erik shook his head.

"No," he replied. "I want to know _the moment _he's done with her! She's my _wife, _for God's sake." Erik turned away then to hide the tears that filled his eyes.

It was then that Christine began to scream, and Erik was at the door in a moment, trying to convince the little nurse Dr. Lister had brought along with him that, as the father, he _deserved _to be in the room with her; he _had _to be.

But the woman held firm, and led Erik, protesting all the way, by the arm back to the living room, and sat him firmly on the couch.

"Staying calm will be a much better help to your wife, sir," she lectured as Erik fumed. "Especially with your..... condition."

Somewhere, Erik felt rather annoyed that this woman knew anything about his heart. In fact, he wasn't even sure Christine had told Dr. Lister, and if she had, it was hardly his place to go telling the rest of the world. Yet that indignation was swamped when Christine screamed his name, sobbing as she begged him to come to her.

Erik tried to get up, but the little nurse pushed him back down. To keep him from getting back up and doing himself any real harm, she took out a piece of cloth dipped in some fragrance, and held it to Erik's face. In a moment, he stilled, head slipping to the side as he sagged back against the couch, eyes closed.

"What did you _do?!" _Nadir demanded, jumping forward.

"Calm yourself, sir," the nurse sighed. "He's only asleep. It's better he's kept calm."

"You know nothing of his life," Raoul spoke up suddenly. "Everyone else he's ever loved has left him, he has every reason to fear for her. To force him to stay out here, away from her, is _torture!_"

Nadir glanced at Raoul, surprised that the viscount had come to Erik's defense.

The nurse sighed, and shook her head.

"Believe me," she insisted. "It's better for him to not be in there now. It's..... not going well."

"What do you mean?" Meg asked, wide-eyed.

"The young madam is not doing well."

"S-she's dying...."

Everyone turned to the couch where Erik was laying. His eyes were half open, and it was all too obvious that he was fighting hard to stay awake against the affects of the drug the nurse had used.

Nadir knelt beside his friend, and patted his hand.

"No," he said gently. "She'll be fine, Erik. You must have faith in her, my friend. Faith and love saved you. Eight months ago, you were on your deathbed, but here you are now, alive and well because Christine loved you, and had faith that you'd find a way to survive. Believe in Christine, and she'll make it."

Erik shook his head, eyes wide and frightened behind the mask as tears welled.

"What if that's not enough?" he whispered, looking very much like a frightened child.

"It was enough for her before," Raoul put in. "When Christine was young, she once fell very ill. But her father kept telling her she'd make it, kept saying to _everyone _that she'd survive. And she did. If love and faith was enough back then, it will be enough now. Nadir is right."

A horribly pained scream split the air, and the nurse scuttled back to the bedroom.

On the couch, Erik gasped, and curled into a ball, arms clutched tight around his torso, stomach in painful knots of concern and fear as tears rolled down his face.

"Christine...." he whimpered, eyes tightly shut, tears streaming down his face.

Nadir looked with sadness on his friend, and stood, walking to the bathroom where he knew there was always a bottle of Erik's medicine, just in case. He returned to Erik's side, and held out the vial.

"Drink, Erik," the Persian instructed. Erik hadn't taken the weekly dose yet, and it was imperative that he _not _have one of his attacks, today of all days.

Erik waved Nadir's hand away tiredly.

"I have some," he muttered, fumbling in his pocket, and holding the small flask in shaking hands. He pushed himself up with one arm, and tilted his head back, draining the liquid, and praying the pressure in his chest would recede before it became pain. He'd noticed, lately, that the medicine didn't do quite as well as it used to, and that could be either that his body was simply growing an immunity to it, or he was beginning to get worse. Erik was inclined to think it was the latter, though he sincerely wished it was the former.

Erik fell asleep after a second, the drug the nurse had held to his face still strong and effective in his blood. Nadir sat on the floor and leaned back against the arm of the couch, determined to stay at his old friend's side.

-

-

Christine gasped, and panted, tears mixing with sweat on her cheeks. She screamed as pain shot through her stomach. This was so much worse than she''d ever imagined. Something _had _to be wrong for there to be this much pain.

"Wh-what's.... wrong?" she choked out, another pained cry ripping from her throat.

"Calm, dear," the nurse cooed. "You'll be all right if you calm down. It's a breach birth; these things take time."

The nurse said nothing else. She did not elaborate, or talk again, except to instruct Christine to breathe, or push. She would not tell the young woman that this could kill her. Did not let her emotions show on her face, even as the thoughts ran through her head that this was, without a doubt, the most troublesome, worrisome delivery she'd ever witnessed. It would be a miracle if the child were not severely deformed.

"Tell me, Madam," Dr. Lister said, trying to keep Christine awake with talking - anything. "Your husband, how is his health?" The doctor had noticed, in Erik's hands, and the small portion of his face not covered by his mask, that the man's skin was very pale. "And, his heart? I believe you may have mentioned problems?"

Christine nodded weakly.

"E-erik's heart.... is w-weak," she gasped, breathing heavy and strained as another scream flew from her mouth. "F-for as l-long..... as..... I've k-known him...... Erik's heart..... he.... he's h-had trouble. H-heart atta - _AAAAAHHHHH!!!"_

"Breathe, dear, breathe!" the nurse urged quickly. "Don't you fret now, everything will be all right."

"E-erik," Christine whimpered. "I want.... Erik...." A sob shook her shoulders, and she curled forward over her rounded stomach.

'He's in the other room, dear," the nurse assured. "I gave him something to help him sleep. He was all strung out, and excited. Shouldn't be getting so worked up with his troubles."

"Erik...." Christine cried.

"Madame Destler," Dr. Lister said again. "Keep talking to me, please. Your husband's health; you said heart attacks?"

Christine nodded again, this time with even less strength.

"Th-the first was...... m-my fault..." she whispered, slipping dangerously close to unconsciousness. "Do you know.... why..... he w-wears a mask? His f-face...... like a skull. I... I took off his mask... He grew s-so angry..... that.... it t-triggered....." She cut off into another shriek as pain washed over her stomach again, and she bore down, wishing this would all end. It had been so long now.

"Madam Destler," the doctor continued. "Might you know the reason for your husband's heart trouble? After all, a healthy body does not rebel like this. There must be something amiss."

"Th-there's a...... skip...... in the b-beats-" Another scream split through her words, stopping her mid-sentence.

"Perhaps a higher dosage would prove beneficial?" Dr. Lister suggested, still trying to keep her talking. He'd seen how much love the woman had for the older man, and he had used that to keep her awake and aware. Also, if he knew more about Erik's health, perhaps he could do something. "If you wish," he went on, "I shall take a look at your husband after we are done here?"

Christine nodded vigorously.

"P-please.... help him..."

Another three hours passed with Christine barely on the brink of consciousness. The baby still had not come, and Dr. Lister was beginning to get nervous. Nine hours of labor, and little change.

In the living room, Erik was still asleep under the affects of the drugs. Though he would never say it, Nadir was getting nervous. Erik, he knew, was incredibly apt at fighting off sleeping drugs. In fact, he remembered very well a time in Persia when one of them - he could not remember who, now, and anyway, that was not the point - had spilled a bottle of Mazanderan scent. Erik had still been awake and mostly lucid when Nadir at last had succumbed to the perfume, and when the daroga woke up, Erik had also been awake and alert. That he was not now still fighting off the fumes from what the nurse had given him was just cause for worry.

The tenth hour of Christine's labor was up, and the eleventh nearly over when Erik finally woke. His eyes fluttered, and he groaned, calling out softly for Christine.

Sitting up, he looked around at everyone, memories flashing back through his mind.

"Christine!" he cried, moving to jump up and go to his precious Christine.

Nadir pushed him back down, and gently shook his head.

"She'll be all right, Erik," he assured. "Just relax. You'll only hurt yourself if you try to get up now."

Erik didn't like it, but Nadir was right. His limbs still felt incredibly heavy, and he doubted he could stay on his feet if he tried to stand.

In all, twelve hours had passed by the time the nurse stepped out of the room.

Erik forced his body to obey him, and stood on shaky legs, taking an unsteady step toward her.

"You have a daughter," the nurse said quietly.

"A-and my wife?" Erik asked in a choked voice.

The nurse sighed sadly.

"This is really not news any husband should hear -"

"No....." Erik rasped. "No, no, _no...... Christine......"_

"Sir, please," the woman continued softly. "Your wife should recover after a time. But Dr. Lister advises against ever trying to have another child."

Wide-eyed, and suddenly feeling very weak, Erik let out a shattered breath breath of relief (Christine was alive), and dropped into a chair. Nadir was at his side quickly, making sure his friend was all right.

"Can I see her?" Erik's voice was small and hoarse, and it trembled. The nurse nodded, and Erik was on his feet and in the other room immediately.

When Dr. Lister saw Erik come in, he moved from Christine's side, and pulled him to a corner of the room.

"She needs rest," he started. "I expect she'll be unconscious for some time. The strain was nearly too much for her."

A choked whimper lodged in Erik's throat along with his heart, and he willed the tears not to start up again.

"I must be honest with you," the doctor continued. "Your wife is not out of the woods quite yet. There was quite a bit of bleeding. Only time will tell if she is strong enough to survive."

"A-and the ch-child?"

Terrified concern filled Erik's heart with dread. What if the baby had died? What would happen to Christine?

Dr. Lister smiled slightly and motioned to the cradle by the bed.

"Healthy, if a bit small." After a second's pause, Dr. Lister started speaking again. "This I must say, and it is very important if you want your wife to live; another child, I fear, would not be a wise idea."

Erik nodded.

"I would rather have Christine than all the world's children."

Another small smile crossed the doctor's face.

"She also mentioned your health, sir, that it was not quite right. If I may examine your heart and breathing...?"

Erik paused. This was not supposed to be happening. He was fine. He had his medicine for the attacks, it was enough.

"Your wife asked for me to see what I could do," Dr. Lister explained. "For her?"

Erik nodded slowly and glanced at his precious wife's unconscious body laying in the bed, and in his mind, a silent prayer went up to the God he would never be quite certain of.

"For Christine," he whispered.

Dr. Lister had him sit on the window seat in the room, and instructed him to take his shirt off. Erik balked, but still slid out of his shirt in the end. Anything for Christine.

The doctor tried not to be obvious in his surprise at Erik's almost inhuman thinness. Nearly every bone in his upper body was visible, and Dr. Lister could only guess the rest of him was the same.

Erik's skin was even paler than the doctor had first thought. All over, his veins were easily visible through the thin, translucent skin.

Scars and old welts crisscrossed Erik's chest and shoulders, and Dr. Lister could easily imagine the ones that must have scoured his back, as well.

Turning, the doctor rifled through his bag for a stethoscope, and when he found it, turned and stood before Erik.

"This will be cold," he warned. Erik nodded, and the doctor placed the ear buds into his ears, and the round end against Erik's chest.

An involuntary shiver traveled down Erik's spine at the cold metal on his bare skin.

The flutter in the beats of Erik's heart, though small, was easily obvious. On it's own, Dr. Lister would think it shouldn't cause much distress, but with Erik's almost inhuman thinness, no doubt from malnutrition, and misuse of his own body, it was too easy for such a little thing to cause him great trouble.

"Your wife said you take medicine already," Dr. Lister said. He turned around, and reached into his bag for something. "Here." he held out a small container of flat round tablets, and Erik took them silently. "Hawthorne tablets. They do wonders, Mr. Destler. I should know. My wife has similar problems. Take them daily, and you will be fine."

Erik nodded his thanks, and pulled his shirt back on. Standing, he walked to the bed, and sat beside Christine, hands shaking slightly as he took one of hers, marveling at how delicate and slender it was; petite and fair, and so very soft.

"She will wake soon, won't she?" Erik asked, turning to look over his shoulder at the doctor.

"I am not certain. At this point, she could go either way."

Erik's eyes widened, and he felt his throat constrict around a lump that had just gathered there. His breathing became ragged.

"She can't die....." he breathed, horrified.

"The girl may yet survive," Dr. Lister said softly. "But at least you have your daughter."

Erik nodded, and Dr. Lister left silently. His job was done, and the poor man sitting beside his wife needed to be alone.

"Christine....." Erik whispered, clutching her hand tightly in his. Sobs wracked his shoulders, and he bent over her still form, forehead resting on her chest as he cried. He _never _should have let the last eight months happen. He had no doubt that, if the child had been the viscount's, it wouldn't have given Christine such trouble.

A soft, mewing cry issued from the cradle at the end, and Erik could hear the other-worldly musicality in that tiny noise. Drawn toward the sound, he reached into the cradle and lifted the baby into his arms. Dr. Lister had said a daughter, hadn't he?

Pushing aside the swadling from the infant's face, Erik gasped quietly, tears welling in his eyes. Two yellow eyes blinked knowingly up at him from a pale, slightly narrow face that was topped with thin wisps of black.

High, delicate cheekbones, a tad more pronounced than a newborn's usually were, a delicate little nose, eyes just a hair deeper than normal. Mere shadows of the deformity that had plagued him.

The longer Erik looked, the more he could see of Christine in the little girl. Her eyes were round, like her mother's, her nose was the same shape, and her precious little face was, if a bit thinner, heart-shaped, exactly like the woman's lying in the bed.

Slowly, Erik sank to the floor, overwhelmed by the percious little thing in his arms. She was so tiny, so small, and yet, he could see something intelligent and strong in those yellow eyes of hers.

For well over an hour, Erik simply sat there, cradling his baby to his chest, tears rolling steadily down his face as he leaned against the footboard of the bed.

It was not until the following morning that Christine woke. After two hours, Nadir had come to see what had become of Erik and Christine, and found his old friend asleep with tear stains on his unmasked face (Erik had taken it off sometime after he'd started crying, his breathing difficult with it on), and his child in his arms.

Christine's eyes fluttered open slowly, and her eyes roved around the room.

"Erik?" she called hoarsely. At the end of the bed, there was a snort, and then Erik's head appeared above the footboard, looking sleepy and surprised.

"_Christine!" _he cried, setting the baby in her crib and flying to Christine's side. He pulled her tight against his chest, sobbing in relief, whispering over and over how much he loved her.

"Our baby," Christine said during a pause in Erik's tearful words. "Let me see our child..."

Erik nodded, and wiped away his tears, standing and retrieving the little girl from her crib. He realized then, that his mask was off, and the little one had a clear view of his face, and for a moment, he could neither move or breathe. But when she reached up, gurgling in that ethereal voice she'd inherited from him, a smile on her little face, his fears fled, and he pulled her into his arms, returning to Christine.

He crawled into the bed on her other side, and set the baby carefully in Christine's arms, mindful of how weak his dear wife seemed at the moment, then held Christine.

"Oh, Erik, she's beautiful," Christine sighed. Erik nodded his agreement, and held out a finger for the little baby to hold. The girl grabbed onto it and cooed innocently as she blinked up at her parents.

"What will we name her?"

Erik looked up from his child to his wife, then back, a small, fond smile crossing his face, as he carressed the infant's little head with a skeletal hand.

"Why not Arabelle?" he suggested quietly.

Christine nodded tiredly, and leaned against Erik's shoulder.

"Yes, Arabelle," she murmured, her eyes closing and her breathing evening out and slowing.

Erik kissed her, then pulled their daughter from Christine's limp grasp, and held her close in his own arms again, gently kissing his little one's forehead.

"My Arabelle..."

XxX  
Wow this was a long chapter. There was so much I wanted to fit in and it got away from me, I guess. But, that's, I hope, not a bad thing. All depends on weather or not you guys liked it like this. I hope you all did. Review please!


	13. A Family

Hey everyone. Little bit of a trivia to explain last chapter's title; Arabelle, in French, means 'Answered Prayer'.

And now, onto chapter 13!

A Family  
XxX

Erik took very great care of Christine for the next two weeks, never once letting her out of bed, for fear that somehow, she'd hurt herself.

"Please, my dear, don't over do it."

Christine smiled as she continued walking at almost a normal pace, Erik frantic at her side.

"I'm _fine, _my love," she assured him, gently squeezing the hand that held hers. Erik had an arm around her waist to support her, and was clutching her hand tightly as they made their way to the living room, where Erik had placed little Arabelle in her cradle just a minute ago. He'd bought the cradle a few days before the girl's birth, and it was used constantly - when Arabelle was not in one of her parents' arms, which was not very often; Erik held her every chance he got, amazed that such a pretty little creature had come, in part, from him.

He wondered once again how he could possibly deserve this latest chapter of his life. From birth, he'd been alone; shunned and hated by even other outcasts. And now, he had the most beautiful wife, and a _child. _

Never in his wildest dreams had anything like this ever happened to him. He had always imagined his wedding to Christine being forced, and her either finding a way to escape him, or killing herself because she was bound forever to a monster. He felt tears start to sting his eyes as he thought about it all. He'd done such wrong, and yet, he'd been rewarded beyond proportion to the small amount of good he'd given to the world.

Without Erik's mask, Christine could easily see the welling tears, and the overwhelmed look on her husband's face. Concern rose inside her, and Christine reached out and gently touched his shoulder.

Erik's life made Christine sad. He'd been hurt unnecessarily from the time he was little. He was so thin, and frail-looking it worried her. Even through his shirt and vest, Christine could feel his collarbone, where it ended in a point on his shoulder. Almost every bone in his body was like that; barely covered by too-tight skin. And yet, he was so strong. Aside from his heart, the only time Christine had ever seen him sick was that little cold he'd caught on their trip here, months ago.

"Erik?" she asked softly, tilting her head to get a better view of his face. "What's the matter, love?"

Erik shook his head, and laughed weakly.

"I.... Oh, Christine," he sighed, turning slightly wet eyes and a dim smile to Christine. "What have I done to deserve all this?" He motioned to Christine, their daughter, the room.

Christine smiled fondly, and reached out. Carefully, to not squish Arabelle, Christine wrapped her arms around Erik's shoulders, and kissed him softly on his lips. After a second, she pulled back enough to look up into his eyes, and smiled again.

"You deserve it, Erik," she replied quietly, stroking his hollow cheek. "You gave a little boy peace, saved an animal from death -" At this point, Ayesha, who'd been sleeping near the fire, lifted her head slightly, one blue eye opened and regarding Erik and Christine on the couch. "You gave hope to a lost girl. Thanks to you, I was able to _live _again, Erik. In my heart, I'd been dead since my father died. Then you...." She sighed. "It's the little things we do, that we don't think matter at all, that earn us God's forgiveness, Erik."

Erik gazed steadily at Christine, yellow eyes meeting soft blue. He raised one bony hand and ran it over her face; across her forehead to rest against her cheek, and a faint, fond smile crossed his face.

"This is why I love you," he whispered, running his thumb over her cheekbone. "You are kind, too kind. I am not worthy of you, or any of this."

"That's not _true!" _Christine insisted, cupping his skull face in her hands. "I _love _you. You, who gave me your heart, when I needed it. I nearly got you _killed _because I was so frightened to grow up. Every attack you've had was, in some way, because of _me. I _don't deserve _you, _after everything I've put you through."

"Christine, don't _say _that," Erik countered, shaking his head. "I would do it all again - every moment of fighting the viscount for you - knowing it turned out this way, and not change a thing! And not all the attacks I've had were because of you. That time after you left, I wasn't angry at you, I was mad at myself, for ever thinking that Raoul would let you come back to me. I was angry with myself, and I didn't want a bit of my presence left. I didn't want the dark shadow of a demon hanging forever over the Paris Opera. And.... there was another.."

Christine looked at him, head tilted to the side, worried frown on her face.

"After I had you leave for a week - I am so sorry for the way I made you go, Christine, I love it when you are near me, then _and _now - I.. I had another attack. It just, _happened. _I've never figured why."

Christine's horror and concern rose to almost dizzying heights. If Erik had had an attack for no reason before, perhaps it would happen again! What if, the next time such a thing happened, she lost him? What if they were doing nothing more than singing, and he suddenly slumped over the piano, never to play it again, never to kiss her, hold her in his spindly, loving arms again?

"Christine?" Erik called softly when the tears began to well in his wife's eyes. "Did I say something wrong?"

Christine shook her head, and buried her face in his shoulder. Erik gently set Arabelle in her crib, and wrapped his arms around her, rubbing her back slowly, comfortingly.

"Wh-why didn't you tell me before," she whispered, "a-about the attack....?"

Erik sighed. _I won't tell her about the attacks during the siege. It will do her no good to know, she'll only worry too much. God, why did I say a thing?_

"It was long ago, Christine," he told her gently. "If such a thing were to happen again, don't you think it would have already? Don't worry about me, _mon précieux, précieux ange._"

Christine sniffed, and Erik pulled his hands away from her back, cupping her face.

"I love you, and adore you, and will never, _ever _leave you, Christine," he said certainly, looking steadily into her eyes. God, it killed him to see her cry. "I won't let it come to that, please believe me. I promise you, my love, my _life."_

Despite her concern, Christine smiled slightly, a light blush on her face. He'd called her his life. The little girl inside her was flushing brightly, and twittering behind a hand.

Erik leaned in then, and kissed away the tears that still clung to her cheeks, then pressed his lips to hers, gentle and tender.

Christine smiled faintly again when they pulled apart, and lifted a slightly squirming Arabelle into her arms. The baby had begun to coo in her father's voice, meaning she was hungry. Christine guided her daughter's head to her chest, pulling aside the shoulder of her night-gown (Erik had insisted she not take on the stress yet of wearing a corset and full dress) so the hungry baby girl could drink.

Erik smiled, a soft sigh escaping him. He glanced around the room, still amazed that all this happiness was his. It was late November. Outside, the snow was falling, and soon, Christmas would be coming. Standing, he kissed Christine's lips, and the top of Arabelle's head, then left the room.

From the desk in the small study, he pulled out a sheet of paper, and a pencil, and began drawing, slowly and carefully. It would be his wife. His precious wife with their darling daughter at her breast. Of course, now it was only a blank paper. Smiling fondly, and visualizing the scene he'd just left in the living room in his mind, he set the tip of the pencil to the paper, and began to draw.

It took him the better part of the next week, when he was not with Christine and Arabelle (for example; late at night, as sleeping, despite the fact that the nightmares that used to plague him before had almost stopped, was still difficult), to get the drawing done to his satisfaction. By now, it was the fifth of December, and Christine was in a decidedly cheery mood, flouncing all around the apartment like a schoolgirl. While he found it endearing, to say the least, he couldn't seem to see the point. He'd never celebrated Christmas before, so what did it really matter? But, for Christine, he would try, this year, hence the drawing of his wife and child.

" Erik?" Christine asked a week before Christmas. "What are you hiding?"

Erik had been most insistent, in as subtle a way as possible, about keeping Christine out of the study, where the sketch that had become a painting was hidden. He'd felt it was missing something, even when he'd gotten the sketch to his liking, so he'd spent the next couple weeks painting it with watercolors. He could only hope Christine would like it.

"I'm hiding nothing worth worrying about," Erik assured her, doing his best to answer her questions as vaguely as possible. They were getting less generic, and more difficult to reply to without giving his surprise away.

Christine sighed, and let the matter drop. For some reason, it seemed as though Erik were reverting back to his more secretive, secluded nature, the way he was before she'd drawn him away from that and into the light. It unnerved her. Something was amiss, and her husband was not telling her the full truth.

But she let it go. It would do no good to push him on the subject. If she knew anything about Erik, she knew that pushing the matter would only make him angry and more closed off. Best to let him get around to it in his own way and time.

Presently, Arabelle was curled in her father's arms, looking up at him as he sang a wordless, haunting tune under his breath.

_"Laa-la-la la-da-da-da la-daa la-da-ah aaoohhh...._

_Laa-aa-aa la-a-a-aah a-aah la-a-ah aaaooohh....._

_Aah aah aah a-a-aah aa-aaaah a-a-aaaa-oooooohhh..._

_Aah aah aah a-a-aah aah aaah aah ah a-a-aaa-oooooohhhhh....."*_

Arabelle's little eyes slid closed about halfway through the soft song, and when she was sleeping soundly, Erik smiled, kissed her forehead, and lay her gently in her cradle, covering her warmly, and resting a hand for a moment on her stomach, unwilling to break the contact between the two of them quite yet.

After a moment, he pulled away, knowing he'd probably wake Arabelle up if he kept his hand on her too long. He moved back to the chair, and watched as the little baby napped. _His _little baby. Again, he was struck by how incredible this all was, how undeserving he was of such happiness. Christine could say what she wanted, but he knew better.

By all rights, he should have died nine months ago, but that hadn't happened, for some reason. For some reason he was still here, raising _his child, _with _Christine. _The one scenario he had never imagined - he'd known better than to even _dream _it all along - was now in front of him, and he wondered, not for the first time in his life, what God was doing. If He were watching, Erik was sure he'd be dead and burning in Hell.

But maybe this was his atonement for everything else. Maybe he was meant to help raise his child, bring her up right, as repentance for all the horrid things he'd done before. Perhaps Arabelle and Christine were his so that he could take care of them, make sure nothing happened to impede their entrance to Heaven, though he himself would never get there.

Tender arms wrapped gently around his neck, and Erik smiled, leaning back into Christine's shoulder.

"You make a wonderful father," she whispered to him.

Erik's smile grew as she began rubbing his shoulders, and his eyes closed. He thought he knew now how Ayesha felt when he scratched her behind the ears; it was just a bout all he could do not to start purring like his beloved pet.

"Christine....." he gasped, amazed. He knew she was talanted, but when she pressed in just the right places on his upper back and shoulders, he felt a tingling shoot down his spine. He'd never known she could do _this. _

Christine's hands slid forward, rubbing his chest in much the same way, and he felt his heart rate pick up just a bit.

Christine smirked at the obvious pleasure on her husband's face. She wondered if he even knew how evident it was that he was _really_ enjoying the massage. Christine was enjoying it, too, to be honest. Erik always seemed so tense, it was the least she could do; try and take away some of the stress. It made her feel helpful, and Heaven knew it would help their relationship.

When she was done, Christine slipped around the chair, and sat lightly on his lap, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Where did you _learn _that?" Erik asked, voice rough and amazed.

Christine just smiled, and kissed his cheek.

"Think of it as an early Christmas present," she cooed. "Not the only one, of course, but an early one."

"Oh?" Erik asked, still very much in a trance-like state of relaxation (by God, Christine was good at massages!).

Christine made a small agreeing noise, and kissed him gently.

After a moment, she slid off his lap and walked away, humming Christmas carols.

"Christine?" Erik asked. "Where are you going?"

Christine looked at him.

"To make dinner," she replied. Tilting her head and frowning, Christine asked, "Are you all right, Erik? You know I usually start preparing supper now." She returned to his side, and knelt beside him. "You _do _look a little pale..."

Erik laughed lightly, and shook his head.

"No," he replied. "I just, didn't sleep so well last night."

_Ahh the lies I tell to keep a surprise for my wonderful wife a secret. _

Christine looked at him closely, touching his cheek and forehead.

"You aren't falling ill, are you?" she worried. "You don't feel warm. I-is your heart all right?"

Erik sighed. Christine was so loving. Her hand was resting gently on his arm, rubbing lightly up and down, a concerned look on her face.

"Yes, my love," he smiled, gently cupping her face. "I feel absolutely fine. You're worrying for nothing. Go on. If you want to make dinner, go. I'm all right."

Christine nodded, and walked away to make dinner.

Erik sighed and sat back in his chair, enjoying the warmth of the fire on the cold December evening.

After a while, his breathing slowed, and his thoughts faded to darkness. He had no idea how much time had passed, but it felt as though he'd just closed his eyes when Christine shook his shoulder gently, telling him to wake up, that it was time for supper, and his food was getting cold.

Opening his eyes, Erik blinked, then smiled sheepishly, blushing slightly. He'd fallen asleep, evidently.

Standing, he pulled Christine in close, and kissed her softly as she ran her hands tenderly through his hair. It had taken him a long time, but he was finally comfortable with affection. Certainly, the bolder things Christine did still sent him blushing furiously, and they probably always would, but the little, everyday things, no longer made his face turn red.

"Come and eat, love," Christine said gently when they parted, taking his hand, and drawing him to the kitchen/dinning room.

The food was mostly a thick, warm stew ('to ward off the chills in the air' Christine had said (her pointed look at him made Erik think she was just coddling him again, trying to keep him from getting sick, as she seemed to think he would. Erik prided himself on having only gotten sick once in the last, well at least ten or fifteen years, and found this a bit unnecessary, though very comforting as it showed, again, just how much his dear Christine loved him)).

"Christine," Erik asked halfway through the meal. "Do you still wish to return to Paris?"

Christine nodded, swallowing her mouthful of soup before speaking.

"Yes," she replied. "I miss it. And perhaps I could return to the opera!"

Erik smiled at Christine's excitement. Yes, she certainly would be welcome back at the opera with her voice. Hopefully, Carlotta would be out of the way (not that he'd do anything like that. Not again) and Christine's shot at happiness and success would be complete. Perhaps he could try being a patron - an anonymous one, though - maybe then his notes would be accepted (he'd still do what he could to help the opera house achieve perfection; after all, it was his).

"When do you wish to leave, love?"

Christine thought for a moment.

"Spring," she replied. "So the danger of frost and ice, and snow will have passed. And Erik? Can we live _above _ground, please? The opera basements are no place to raise a child."

Erik paused only for a moment. With Christine, he'd gotten over most of his fear of men who lived on the surface; he had his architectural job here, which he could easily turn to a contracting business back in Paris.

"I agree," he replied, and his mind brought forth the unbidden image of a dark-haired teenager, lying limp and burned in a corner of the torture chamber. He knew the girl in the vision was his Arabelle, and his breath caught in his throat for a second at the thought of her being hurt like that. His only child... He could not let that happen to her, and if they stayed underground, he knew it would. There were too many secrets he would have to keep if they stayed there. "A place like the cellars is no place for our daughter to grow up."

_She wouldn't even grow up, Erik, and you know it. Arabelle will die if you stay down there._

Erik's voice had become a bit strained, and Christine noticed it, though she misread the source.

"Are you _certain _you're all right, Erik?" she asked worriedly. "You sound a bit hoarse."

Erik shook his head.

"No, no, I'm all right, Christine. I promise."

The hoarseness was gone from his voice now, and Christine passed it off as perhaps a bit of the meat in the stew had rubbed his throat as it went down. Oh, if only she knew.

For the rest of that evening, Erik was haunted by the image of his daughter in the torture chamber. Somehow, he couldn't shake the feeling that, no matter what he did, their family would not escape such a happening.

When he finally did get to sleep that night, he dreamed.

_Erik was running through the opera house catacombs, calling as he raced toward the house on the lake, when suddenly, claws of iron tore through his skin and clutched his heart, forcing him to stop, holding him back when he was only feet away from his precious Arabelle, watching from the floor of the living room in the house on the lake as his daughter called for him from behind the mirrored glass._

_He watched her grow weaker before his eyes, her screams turning hoarse, and becoming barely more than whispers, as even the strength to sob was taken from her, and she slid to the floor, hands and face horribly burned forever, on her, and in his mind._

_Erik cried, and prayed for the claws to let him go, so that he could save her. He had to save her! She was his only child._

_"Arabelle," he moaned, in pain and self-loathing for not being able to save his precious daughter, watching as the life drained slowly from her yellow eyes._

"Arabelle!" he gasped, flying up in bed, eyes wide, breathing ragged. His shoulders and chest heaved, and his heart hammored behind his ribs. With shaking hands, he reached for the bottle of hawthorne tablets, kept always on his nightstand. Erik shook two into his hand, and swallowed them both as fast as he could, gasping and trembling with horror from the vivid dream.

After a second, he stood, breath still coming in tremulous pants, and walked to the end of the bed, where Arabelle's cradle lay. His steps were not entirely steady, and he moved as quickly as he could once he had his daughter in his arms, to a chair by the window, so he would stand less of a chance of dropping her. Erik's arms shook the entire time, and he clung to the little baby in his arms, kissing her head over and over.

Sitting in the chair, he curled in on himself, around his darling child, legs drawn up onto the seat of the chair, his head beant low as he clutched Arabelle to his chest.

Tears rolled down his face slowly, and he couldn't keep that horrible image of his daughter in the torture chamber out of his mind. What _horrors,_ to lose one's only child! He thanked God repeatedly that it had been but a dream (so far, anyway).

That was where Christine found him in the morning; curled up in the chair, sleeping soundly, Arabelle held tightly in his arms. There were tear-stains on his face, and he was shivering slightly in the frigid winter morning.

Concerned, Christine pulled the thick, plush quilt off the bed, and draped it over her husband and daughter. It still touched her as amazing, the idea of a family - _their _family. From the beginning of all this, she'd thought she'd marry Raoul, but fate had placed her in the arms of Erik, and given her the clarity to see her love for him. She was endlessly grateful.

"Sleep well, _mon belle ange noir bien-aime," _she breathed, before walking from the room to make breakfast for her family.

XxX  
A little sadder, I think, than I intended, but this story seems to take on a life of its own, almost. The story tells itself, and I just go where the typing leads me. Anyway, I hope you all liked it, and review, please!


	14. Christmas

And now, chapter fourteen! Oh! And that little bit Erik sings last chapter, is the song-ish thing he sings in the 1990 version to put Christine to sleep in his lair. I love that version. He's so gentle.

Anyway, on with the story!

Christmas  
XxX

It snowed for the first time since mid-November the night before Christmas. Tomorrow Nadir and the others would be over to celebrate. But tonight, Erik, Christine, and Arabelle were on their own. Unable to wait any longer, and just about bursting, Erik had made Christine close her eyes, and brought out his painting of her and Arabelle.

Christine's reaction had been delayed by shocked amazement, but when she did move, she moved like lightning, and in a moment, her arms were thrown tight around Erik's neck, and she stood on tiptoe to kiss him passionately.

Erik had hoped she'd like it, but goodness, she seemed overjoyed. Her eyes stared into his, and she kissed him again, long and slow this time, and Erik was not too caught off guard to kiss her back.

"Erik, you're wonderful!" she gushed, beaming, finally taking her eyes off her husband to the painting he'd done for her. The details were exact, and even minute aspects had been highlighted, and she could easily imagine Erik spending long night-time hours bent close to get the finer elements and highlights. The strands of Arabelle's hair were whisper thin in the painting, and they held the same slight curl that the actual baby's hair had.

Grinning, Christine pulled away, and reached under the simple tree Erik had bought and put up in the corner of the room. Standing again, she pressed a box into his hands, a loving look in her eyes.

"Open it," she said with quiet eagerness, her blue eyes shimmering.

Erik looked at her for a moment, before tugging gently on the elegant, deep blue ribbon that held the box closed. He opened the lid, and his eyes popped wide, filling quickly with tears.

In the box, neatly folded, and carefully packed, was a blood-red knitted scarf. It was made of soft, warm yarn, and on the ends, embroidered with careful stitches, was the letter 'E' in a simple, yet elegant form.

The tears overflowed, and Erik yanked Christine into his arms, crushing her to his chest, face buried in her hair as he cried.

"Christine...." he breathed, holding her close. "Oh, my love..."

"Do you like it?" Christine asked him, pulling away a bit.

"Like it?" he exclaimed. "Oh Christine, I've never received something so wonderful. I-I never had.... s-such a gift.... God I love you!" His last words came out in a breathless rush, and he leaned in quickly, kissing her soundly, and holding her so she would not fall over backwards.

After a minute, they broke apart, and Erik gently lifted the scarf out of the box. It felt like chenille in his hands, and it was, indeed, as red as blood. The stitches were steady and even, and the letters at the ends were completely smooth, flawlessly sewn, and wonderfully intricate in delicate gold thread. The scarf had been made long for his height, and he placed it around his neck, setting one end over his shoulder, letting the other end hang down his front.

Looking down at it, holding one embroidered end in his hands, he felt the tears come again, slow and wondering, and he looked to Christine with a look of pure love and gratitude beyond words in his shining, wet eyes.

"I've been working on it for quite some time," Christine said softly, smiling herself under Erik's adoring gaze. She stepped back up to him, and lay her hands on his shoulders, placing her head against his chest. "I love you, Erik." she breathed, closing her eyes as his arms came around her and held her gently.

After a second, Erik pulled back, and reached under the tree again for another small box.

"And how can we forget our baby?" he smirked, crossing the floor to where the one-month-old infant lay in her cradle, watching with intelligent eyes. She was wearing a tiny green dress, Christine's gift to their new child.

When Erik reached Arabelle's side, the smirk switched instantly to a fond, loving smile, and he opened the box, presenting her with a beautiful little rattle.

"It's plastic," he explained, standing as Arabelle shook the little toy, accidentally whacking it against the wood of the cradle. "So she won't break it."

Christine smiled, and wrapped her arms around him again.

"You truly are a wonderful father, my dearest love," she sighed, rubbing his back tenderly.

Erik shrugged.

"You and Arabelle are all I have, need, or want," he explained. "Now and forever. I must give you both my very best." He pulled back just enough to kiss her forehead, and held her for a moment. Then he released her, lifted Arabelle into his arms, and crossed to the living room window, kneeling on the couch, and showing the small baby the snow falling outside.

Arabelle's eyes were wide with wonder, despite how young she was, and Erik's certainty that she was still too young to grasp much about the situation. She raised a hand to the glass, following her father, as Erik touched his own long fingertips to the window pane.

"Do you see the snow, my angel?" he asked softly, though he knew she could not understand him yet. "It falls for you. Because you are such a good baby."

Arabelle turned her head to look at her father, and shook her little rattle, beaming and gurgling. Erik laughed brightly and kissed her head.

"Ah, _mon precioux petite ange," _he sighed, cradling the little girl close to him. A loving smile crossed his face, and he reached out with one arm for Christine to come to him.

Christine crossed the floor and settled in his arms, her head resting against his chest. One arm went around the back of his neck, the other hand overlapped Erik's where it rested against Arabelle's blanket-wrapped shoulder.

"Merry Christmas, Christine, my dearest, precious love," Erik whispered, voice ardent and earnest. He kissed her temple, and rested his cheekbones against her curls.

"Merry Christmas, Erik, my angel," Christine responded, gently stroking the hand hers covered.

In the stillness of the night, Erik hummed softly in his perfect voice. Soon, Arabelle and Christine were sound asleep, and after a little while, Erik couldn't keep his eyes open anymore, and he, too, fell asleep.

-

-

Erik woke first the next morning, roused by something tickling at his face. Blinking and starting slightly, he opened his eyes to see two blue eyes right close to his, and he jumped a bit, before realizing it was just Ayesha, sniffing at him curiously. He smiled, and when she nudged his cheek, he turned his head slightly, and kissed her between her ears.

Christine stirred in his arms, and her eyes flickered open slowly. She looked up at him, slightly confused, then smiled.

"Good morning, my love," she whispered, slipping out of his arms, and walking to the kitchen to make breakfast.

Erik sighed, and stretched as best he could with Arabelle in his arms.

"Well, my little one," he smiled. "I suppose I should get dressed."

Erik's shirt was wrinkled from having slept in it, and he laughed lightly at himself. Setting Arabelle in her cradle, he went to the bedroom to change into something fresh, and a bit more formal. This _was _a celebration, after all. _And _his daughter's first Christmas.

Christine spent the morning preparing, and occasionally leaving the kitchen to check on her husband and baby. Erik was playing with the little girl, smiling and laughing in a soft golden shaft of early-morning, winter sunlight.

The light seemed to highlight the little things in the scene playing out before her. Erik's delicate, long fingers held Arabelle, as he lifted her up and down, while she clutched her rattle, laughing as the sun made her small tuft of black hair shine.

The sunbeam had outlined Erik and Arabelle so that it almost looked like some stained-glass image in a church. Long-ish black hair hanging around his shoulders as he held his child, he looked almost angelic. Never mind the lack of a nose, the hollow, miss-formed cheeks, and pale, _pale _thin skin. Never mind the sunken eyes, and the visible veins. He looked almost as she would imagine the Arc Angel Gabriel to look as his laughter rang loud and loving in their apartment.

Christine had to smile herself as she watched. Once, Erik would never have been so open, even when he thought he was alone. Now, however, he was playing with his baby. It was a heartwarming scene, in Christine's mind, and she could easily imagine the bond that would be unbreakable between father and daughter in the future. Smiling fondly, Christine turned back to getting food ready for everyone's arrival.

It was about two when Nadir and the others came and Erik greeted their friends, Arabelle still in her father's arms.

"Her dress is lovely," Arilda admired, looking at Arabelle.

"Christine bought it for her," Erik replied softly, looking down at his baby.

"She certainly has gotten big," Darius observed.

It was true. Arabelle had grown quickly in the past month, and was about the size of any one-month-old baby born at its right time.

"She has your eyes," Meg whispered, looking from Arabelle's face, to Erik's.

Christine heard Erik's mumbled 'unfortunately,' and nudged him as discretely as possible.

"Yes," she agreed. "Arabelle _does _have Erik's eyes, doesn't she? And they're _lovely _eyes." Christine had stressed 'lovely', and looked dead into Erik's yellow eyes as she spoke, earning a tiny, grateful smile from him.

Dinner was pleasant. They talked, and took forever to eat, because they all had come, it seemed, to some unspoken agreement that a moment such as this should last as long as possible. This was the gift they all were to receive that day. This was the Christmas present they had all been given; time together.

Everyone had been busy, lately. Nadir had found something to do with the police - he'd warned them it might only be temporary, but the longer he was with the British police, the more he came to like the work (the English were nowhere _near _as corrupt and heartless as the Persians, after all) - Madame Giry had taken up the position as dance teacher at a local play house when Meg had met, and fallen very hard for, a young Scotsman. Even Raoul, and Arilda, it seemed, were more than likely staying London permanently. But no one dared think of that today. Today, they were enjoying the holiday together.

Halfway through the meal, Erik took Christine's hand beneath the table, gently stroking her knuckles. When she looked at him, wondering if something were the matter, he simply smiled, and gave her hand a little squeeze, eyes shinning. 'I love you,' they said. 'I love you forever. I'll never leave you.'

Christine smiled, and tried to convey the same sentiments without words. She wasn't sure if she'd done it right, but she must have, because Erik just smiled again, and continued to hold her hand.

Erik ate more today than Christine had ever seen him eat at one time, though it was still a very small amount by normal standards, and she had to remind herself that her beloved husband was not 'normal.' He was very different, in personality, habits, mannerisms, everything, it seemed, even without his face. True most of his differing attitude came from the cruel treatment his deformity had earned him, but Christine felt that a lot of it would have been the same either way.

The sun had set before anyone realized it. The group had talked for hours, just enjoying one another. Now, though, it was time for returning home, and for sleep. Late was the hour, and for everyone, work started tomorrow as though today had never existed.

But it had existed. They all knew it. They'd all lived through some of the finest hours in their lives.

After everyone left, and Arabelle was sleeping soundly in her crib, Erik and Christine lay awake in bed, Erik holding Christine close as her head rested on his shoulder, one hand rubbing tenderly over his chest, just above his heart. He sighed, and closed his eyes, smiling slightly.

"Today was wonderful," Christine said softly in the dark.

The only light in the room was the dim light reflected off the snow that somehow managed to slip in between the drawn, heavy curtains.

Erik sighed again, and turned his head, capturing Christine's lips gently, and pulling back as slowly as possible after as long a time as either could manage without proper breath.

"Today was for you," he breathed. "I know Christmas means the world to you, my precious love." He kissed her again, and she snuggled closer, nuzzling her face against his neck, eyes closed, and a small, contented smile on her face.

"Thank you," she whispered, kissing his neck and sending shivers down his spine. "I love you."

Erik turned on his side, and pulled her even closer against his chest.

"And I love you, as well, _mon idéal, ma chérie ange," _he sighed. After a moment, he laughed quietly. "What does this remind you of?" he asked. "Do you remember the _last _time we lay in a position like this?"

"Yes," Christine replied, a definite sad undertone in her voice. "I honestly thought you were going to die. I was so frightened that night, you know." She sighed, and rubbed her hand over his chest again, in rhythmic, absent circles. "For a moment, that morning, I thought I'd lost you. You were lying so still, and it took you so long to open your eyes and look at me when I called your name..."

Christine blinked when their were no tears. She knew that the meaning of that moment had changed. At the time it had only been sad, but now, there was no reason to cry, because that day was their first together, that was the start of their relationship.

"It's funny," Christine mused. "I thought I'd never _not _cry when I thought of the day I came back to you. It hurt so much to see you in such pain, and so weak. But I can't seem to feel sad anymore. And do you know why, my love?"

Erik looked at her, yellow eyes gleaming iridescent in the darkness.

"Why?" he asked quietly, watching her face.

Christine smiled, and kissed him softly, then pressed her head beneath his chin, ear against his chest.

"Because you're still with me," she explained just as quietly. "Because you stayed with me. I love you so much."

Erik nodded silently, and wrapped his arms tight around her.

"You are everything to me, Christine," he told her gently. "Without you, there was no music, I couldn't think, or do much of anything. Death was all I could think of. And, I was so _angry _at myself. Then you were there, and I knew I would hold on as tight as I could.

"To be honest, I wasn't sure I'd make it, even with you there. It _hurt, _Christine. All I wanted was for the pain to stop. Then, then you called my name, and you sounded so desperate and alone, and I _couldn't_ go, whether I wanted to, or not - not that I did want to, anymore. By the time I heard you walk in the door the night before, I'd wanted to live, and be with you.

"You _saved _me, Christine," he whispered, his voice becoming strained with emotion as he thought about how much he loved Christine, and how grateful he was. "If it weren't for you calling to me that morning, our daughter would never have known her father. Christine, thanks to _you, _I got to see my child. You saved my _life! Oh, Christine....."_

Christine hugged Erik tightly, burying her face into his chest.

"I'm glad you're here with me, _mon cher Ange de la Musique_," she breathed. "I thank God _daily _that you are still with me. I should have come back to you long before I did."

"Perhaps," Erik muttered, the last of his emotions falling back into normal. "But it was much more romantic and Shakespearean that you returned on my supposed deathbed. Don't you agree?"

Christine gave a weak laugh, and huddled closer to her Erik beneath the blankets. She was asleep, before too very long, but, again, Erik could not sleep.

He lay awake all that night, thinking in the silence. He remembered it all, every moment of his life, he remembered every moment of fighting for Christine. He remembered the pain that had barely saved him from killing her when she'd first removed his mask. He remembered that attack, the second one, and that horrible, almost final, one that nearly took him from the love of his life, and their future child.

And, like a flash of lightning, he was reminded of what the long-dead Grand Vazir, Mirza Taqui Khan, had said about the cage, and the sudden pressure in his chest, that had bordered so closely on _pain. _He remembered how only Nadir's calm had kept him from going insane, and throttling the life out of that damned man.

But these weren't the right thoughts for Christmas night, he told himself, and he turned his thoughts to his wife and child; his family. Beautiful, ethereal Christine, and his angelic baby. His daughter. She was, in his eyes, just like Christine; perfection. With her black curls, and her shinning yellow eyes. Her skin was pale, and her face a bit narrow, but that was nothing. She was his, and she was more than he ever could have hoped for.

It was nearly dawn when sleep finally claimed him. But when it did, it pulled him completely into warm, welcoming darkness, and the sweetest of dreams he'd ever had; a wedding. A wedding in which the bride smiled as he gave her away, and kissed his bare cheek, whispering with her lovely lips, 'I love you, Papa.'

XxX  
Yep. Christmas chapter. In June. Oh well. I hope you all liked this chapter. Review, please!


	15. Care

Next chapter, Yay!

Care  
XxX

With January, it seemed, came a little piece of Hell. Or so Erik insisted.

First Arabelle caught a little cold. It hardly bothered her, true, but her parents worried. _Especially _Erik. He rarely set the three-month-old baby down over the next three days (in retrospect, that was probably how _he _had ended up with said cold, but at the time, the consequences had mattered little in relation to his daughter's comfort), fretting, and fussing worriedly.

"She needs us, Christine," he'd said urgently, holding the little girl against his shoulder, and bouncing slightly on his heels in an attempt to calm his baby. "She needs to know we love her."

"We _do," _Christine replied, keeping one eye on the soup she was cooking, the other glued to Erik as he flitted around the kitchen with Arabelle in his arms. "She knows that."

Erik nodded. Of course Arabelle knew her parents loved her. But he couldn't help it. Everything between Christine and him, and Arabelle reminded him of the stark differences in the way his mother had raised him. Where he and Christine spent as much of their time with Arabelle as possible, Erik's earliest memories were of being alone in an attic. Not very pleasant.

But, whatever. He held back any emotions besides concern, and took almost exclusive control in caring for Arabelle (which really amounted to simply holding the infant almost non-stop to keep her content. Arabelle rarely cried, even now, when she wasn't well, but she would whimper quietly if she wanted attention).

In the morning, Erik would wake up first, like always. Walking to the end of the bed, he would lift Arabelle into his arms, and proceed to coddle her for the rest of the day; indulging her by singing, telling her stories, or playing music just for her (she was the inspiration behind a few new pieces that popped up around that time).

But always, he made sure she was warm. He knew it was incredibly easy for very young and very old to fall dangerously ill, and if anything more were to happen to Arabelle, he'd never forgive himself.

"Erik, dear," Christine said one morning, near the end of Arabelle's three day sickness. "I think you ought to go lay down. You look pale."

Erik shook his head, and continued to hold Arabelle. She'd fallen asleep to his gentle humming not very long ago.

"No, I'm all right," he assured, flashing a slightly tired smile to Christine. She could see that it didn't fill his eyes like usual.

When he began coughing the next morning, she insisted he stay in bed, and rest.

"I really am all right, Christine," Erik assured her. "Just a little cold."

"It seems to have gone right to your chest," Christine said flatly, crossing her arms.

After a moment, the concern returned, and she sat beside him on the bed, gently stroking back his hair as she held him close.

"Oh, Erik," she sighed. "Please be all right. You mustn't die, my love..."

"Christine," Erik groaned. "You're being overly dramatic. I know you are worried for me, but I highly doubt I am about to die. Do I look as weak as I did a year ago?"

Christine shook her head.

"No, I suppose not, but you're _ill!" _She tightened her hold on him slightly. "You're not young, Erik. Your health hasn't been that good since we met. I'm worried."

Erik sighed. "If I get worse, _then _you should worry." He rubbed her back gently, and rested his warm cheek against Christine's curls. "But not until then, alright?"

Christine nodded.

"Fine. If you get worse, I'll worry more."

"Oh, Christine," Erik muttered, trying not to laugh. But holding the laugh back brought out a hoarse, light coughing fit.

"I'm all right," he assured Christine once the coughs stopped.

"I'll get you some food," Christine said gently, kissing his slightly flushed cheek, and walking from the room.

On her way to the kitchen, she took Arabelle from her crib there in their room, and put her in her highchair, then turned to the ice box for anything to make a soup.

She used a gentle chicken stock, and light ingredients, so they wouldn't bother his stomach; a little chicken, some parsley, a tiny bit of garlic, and carrots.

Turning, she took Arabelle from her highchair, and brought the little one into the living room. She'd set the timer for the soup, and there was nothing left to do but wait.

As she waited, she reflected on Erik's condition. It looked as though it were nothing more than a simple chest cold. The symptoms were mild, certainly, but Christine still worried. Any illness involving the chest could easily turn serious (And Erik already had enough issues in that part of his body, with his heart).

The timer dinged, and she stood, walking back to the kitchen. She turned the stove off, and ladled some of the soup into a bowl. She poured cider into a glass, and set it all on a tray for Erik.

Returning to their room, she found him sitting up in bed, reading something. Smiling, she walked forward, and set the tray across his lap. Erik set down the book, and smiled gratefully.

"Thank you, my dearest love. _Je t'aime, mon cher ange."_

Christine blushed, smirking, and replied quietly,

"_Oui, c'est toi, je t'aime..."_

Erik let out a loud laugh, smiling and pulling Christine in close to kiss her forehead.

_"Oui, c'est moi, je t'aime," _he returned, shaking his head and rolling his eyes fondly.

Christine smiled, and nuzzled in close for a moment.

Erik sighed, a slight wheeze obvious in his breathing, and Christine cringed. He really worried her, sometimes.

Not long after, Christine heard her husband's breathing even out, and deepen, though the wheeze remained.

Frowning, Christine stood, and walked out of the room to the bathroom, where she wet and folded a washcloth.

Returning to the bedroom, she pressed it gently down on Erik's forehead to help his fever (it wasn't too high - 101 when Christine had last checked - but that was high enough to be out of the zone of what wouldn't worry her).

She spent the rest of the day at his side. When she fed Arabelle, Christine did so sitting on the edge of the bed, one eye on her daughter, the other on her husband.

"Oh Erik," she sighed, pushing back his slightly coarse hair (that was also something that made her sad; Erik's hair was usually soft as silk).

Christine stayed awake that night, watching diligently over her love.

For the most part, Erik slept. He seemed very tired. He coughed quite a lot especially during that next day, and Christine hardly left him alone. She kept him on bed-rest, refusing to let him up unless he had to use the bathroom.

"Erik," she said gently, rubbing his chest. He'd just been coughing, hard enough, it sounded like, to bring up a lung, and his hand clutched weakly and trembling at his chest.

Erik's breath came in pants, filled with pain, and his eyes were shut tightly, jaw clenched.

Christine gently pulled his hand away, and rubbed his chest again, humming softly to calm him down.

"...Christine...?" Erik rasped hoarsely, looking up at his wife.

Christine looked down at Erik. He looked like a small child, with his round, pain-filled, slightly frightened eyes.

"What is it, love?" she asked, gently cupping his cheek.

".... drink?" he murmured, voice strained and scratchy.

Christine nodded, gently stroking his cheek.

"Of course, _mon ange," _she smiled, standing, and walking to the bathroom to get Erik some water.

When Christine returned, she handed the glass to Erik, and he drank slowly, swallowing about half, before he set it down.

"I love you, Christine," he sighed.

Christine was about to respond when she saw his eyes slide closed. Instead of speaking, and waking him, she leaned forward, and kissed his forehead, gently pulling the blankets up tight around Erik's body.

Standing, she lifted Arabelle from her cradle, and walked out to the livingroom.

"Oh, darling," she sighed, looking down at the tiny baby in her arms. Arabelle gazed back up at her mother, with bright, intelligent eyes, and Christine could see a bit of Erik in the yellow depths. "I'm worried, little one. Your papa's health has never been very good. When you get bigger, you'll have to help me with him, darling."

For three more nights, things kept on as they were; Erik slept most of the time, and Christine watched over him. On the fourth night, Erik seemed to be having a nightmare. Christine had fallen asleep (she simply couldn't stay awake any longer), and started back into waking when Erik began to call her name, head turning from one side to the other.

Christine reached out, and gently smoothed back his hair, reaching for the picture of water she'd brought in with her when his fever had started to rise. She'd immediately started working on keeping it from going any higher, and while it worked, the nightmares had still come.

"I'm here," she whispered, and Erik's eyes popped open, and he looked at her, smiling tiredly.

"You're always there," he breathed hoarsely. "I love you..."

Christine smiled.

"I love you, too, Erik, _mon Ange de Musique,_" she whispered, stroking his hair, and letting her hand trail down to his face. "And I'll always take care of you, you know that, don't you?"

Erik nodded slowly, sleep pulling at him again.

Christine smiled softly when his eyes slid closed and his breathing deepened.

She remained awake that night, deciding that she would throw pride out the window, and ask Nadir, or one of the others to help her if he was not better by morning.

The night passed slowly. Erik had no other nightmare, and his fever went slowly down as she continued to change the wet cloths on his face.

By morning, his fever was lower than it had been since he'd gotten sick, and his breathing had begun to clear; the little wheeze had almost completely faded.

Smiling, she stood, and changed the compress on his forehead for what she was certain was the last time.

Humming, Christine made her way into the kitchen to fix breakfast for the both of them. It had been so long since they'd ate together in bed, just relaxing. And they didn't have to worry about Arabelle; she was in her cradle at the end of their bed, sleeping still.

When the food was ready, she returned to their room, and crawled into bed beside him, setting the tray over both of them, then gently shook his shoulder, calling to him.

"Erik," she whispered. "I have breakfast!"

Erik mumbled in his sleep, frowning as his eyes moved beneath the lids toward her, then flickered open. He grinned brightly, yellow eyes lighting up at the sight of his beloved Christine gazing at him in loving concern.

"Good morning, my angel," Christine said softly, kissing his hollow cheek, and resting a hand gently on his chest. "Eat." She motioned to the food, and turned to her own plate next to his.

Erik smiled gratefully.

"Thank you, _mon coeur," _he muttered, and Christine blushed at the loving tone in his soft voice.

Christine sighed, and snuggled close to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"How are you feeling?" she asked quietly, eyes closed.

"Much better, love," he replied, wrapping an arm around her. He turned his head and coughed, but felt none of the pain that would have been there yesterday. "I love you."

Christine smiled, and kissed him softly, returning the gentle words, and stroking his chest.

"Let me get Arabelle," she muttered, "and I'll come right back to you."

Erik shook his head, catching her arm.

"No," he grumbled. "I want out of this infernal bed!"

"Now Erik," Christine teased. "Don't you remember when _I _was sick? You had me on a week's bed-rest, and you wouldn't let me talk, either."

"Christine, don't tease me," Erik groaned. "Not now."

Christine smirked, and stroked back his hair.

"Do I need to tape your mouth shut, my love?" she asked, eyes sparkling with mischief. Erik had no doubt, looking at her now, that she _would _tape his mouth shut, simply to further tease him.

With the risk of said taping of his mouth in mind, Erik shook his head.

"Good."

She turned from him, and began cleaning up everything, putting it all on the chair, and returning to the bed. She pushed Erik gently back down, and tucked the blankets close around him.

"Stay in bed, and rest," she instructed. "I won't have you relapsing this quickly, love."

Erik sighed. Christine was so caring. He beamed when she set Arabelle gently into his arms, then lay down beside him.

Arabelle blinked up at her father, and curled closer to his thin chest - the warmest part of his body. She cooed softly, in the voice she'd inherited from Erik, and closed her little eyes, still sleepy, and a bit miffed at having been woken up.

"I told you she'd love you," Christine whispered.

Erik smiled, and rested his head against hers.

"And thank God, too," he sighed. "I was so afraid, Christine. She could have hated me, you know? All the time you were pregnant, I... I worried, that when I held her, she would see my face and.... and cry, and then what would I do?"

"Oh Erik," Christine muttered, wrapping her arms around his bony shoulders. "My Erik... Arabelle is a part of you. There's no way she could have hated you, or been afraid of you. And the way you hold her!"

Christine motioned to Erik's arms, wrapped securely and gently around little Arabelle, with a loving reverence that far surpassed any time he'd ever held Christine.

"How could she be afraid when you hold her like that? She'll never fall when she's in your arms, my love."

Erik smiled, and leaned into Christine's touch when she stroked back his hair, and brushed her fingers over his cheek.

Eyes widening slightly, Christine removed the washcloth from Erik's face, and felt his forehead, a smile crossing her face as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Your fever is gone, love," she whispered. "Perhaps tomorrow, you can sit in the living room?"

"I could today, if you'd let me," Erik countered, looking down into her upturned eyes.

"No," Christine said. "You mustn't push yourself, _mon amour. _You may hurt yourself."

Erik sighed, but didn't speak. Truth be told, he _was_ a bit tired today.

"Christine," Erik said quietly, gently stroking his back. "I love you. I will never understand why you care so much for me, a mon-"

"_Don't," _Christine hissed, looking firmly into his eyes. "Don't. You are _not _a monster. I don't love monsters, therefore, you _can't _be one. And I _know _you aren't. Monsters don't fall in love with pretty young girls, they don't _live _for their child, they don't almost daily claim how unworthy they are of their wife's love. Erik, you _are not _a monster. Don't _ever _call yourself that, my love. You are good, and kind. The world may think otherwise, but they're wrong, and you know it."

She reached up then, and pulled his face to hers, kissing him deeply.

When she pulled back, and looked in his eyes, she held back tears.

"You are more than I deserve, my angel," Christine whispered. "You gave me everything, and I put you through such pain. I can only hope now, that with Arabelle here, too, you can find some sort of peace."

"Christine," Erik sighed, gently cupping his face. "You are why I am still alive. I found peace the moment you came back to me, telling me you loved me. Arabelle only makes things that much better."

Erik pulled Christine close against his chest, rubbing her back, and holding her tight.

"Thank you for taking such good care of me, _mon ange," _he said gently, resting his cheek against her head.

Christine turned to look up at him, eyes shining with love.

"I will _always _take care of you, _mon monde, mon ange de la musique," _she replied. "I love you."

XxX  
Yay, is done!

**_IMPORTANT;_**

I decided that, to tell this right, I'd make it two stories. There will only be a few more chapters to this, and then the sequel. Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter. Review, please!


	16. Passed On

Chapter 16 is here! YAY!!

Passed On  
XxX

Arabelle was six months old in May. Erik and Christine had everyone over for dinner, and Arabelle was in her father's arms the entire time.

Erik held her, and kept her with him every moment, loving the light, trusting look in her eyes when she looked at him (and there was a small bit of paternal pride - and a slight enlarging of his ego - when Arabelle would make a small, unsure noise whenever anyone else held her, though it was considerably quieter when Christine took her). His baby. Oh, she was a wonder.

"Six months, Erik," Nadir sighed, holding the little girl as he sat next to Erik on the couch. "My, she's getting big!"

Erik laughed, and nodded, reaching out a finger for Arabelle to grab.

"She can walk, with help," he stated proudly, taking Arabelle into his arms to show everyone.

He stood in the center of the living room, and took Arabelle's hands in his. Tentatively, though smiling every moment, Arabelle moved forward with Erik, then laughed, and bounced on her toes.

Laughing himself, Erik scooped her into his arms, and spun around, causing her to giggle, and smile brilliantly, as all babies over one thing or another.

"That's my girl," Erik praised, smiling, and kissing her forehead.

Arabelle laughed, clapped, and grabbed his shoulders in an attempt at hugging her father (her little arms were to short to reach around his neck). Pulling back, she clapped again, and pointed at him.

"_Papa!" _she chirped. "Papa, papa, papa!"

For a moment, there was silence. Then Erik yelped, and tossed Arabelle up a little, causing her to laugh again, and caught her effortlessly, hugging her close, and swinging her around.

"You all heard her!" he cried, eyes shining behind the mask as he looked at the others. "'Papa'! Haha, my darling Arabelle!"

He pressed her against his chest, one hand supporting her, the other resting on the dark curls covering her head.

"My sweet little darling," he whispered. "_Mon précieux, parfait petit chéri!"_

"Papa," Arabelle murmured again, snuggling her head into his neck, and closing her eyes.

"Oh, this is _wonderful!" _Meg gushed next to Christine as Nadir stood, and clapped Erik's shoulder, sharing a smile with his old friend.

"She's more like her father than I thought," Christine said brightly, looking at Erik, and smiling slightly. Erik met her eyes for a moment, and the love he saw in her blue eyes made his knees shake a little.

"She really is wonderful," Raoul said quietly. Arilda nodded her agreement, and stroked Raoul's hand.

Madame Giry smiled, and Darius found the little Arabelle very sweet. He stepped forward slowly, and reached out a finger to the baby. Arabelle's eyes widened, she grinned, and grabbed the offered finger, laughing, and looking from the Persian man to her father.

"Ah?" she asked, looking from Erik, to Darius, and back questioningly.

"This is your Uncle Nadir's friend," Erik explained. "You must always be nice to him, and Uncle Nadir, my darling."

Christine smiled, and walked forward, wrapping her arms around Erik's shoulders, and kissing his lips. Then she turned to Arabelle, and gently touched her lips to the little one's soft temple.

"This _is_ wonderful," she sighed, leaning her head against Erik's shoulder.

"This is _perfect," _he agreed, shifting so that he held Arabelle in one arm, and wrapped Christine's waist with the other.

-

-

It seemed Arabelle was very much like her father, in more ways than they'd guessed. In a week, she could coherently say 'maman', 'papa', and 'kitty' (Ayesha usually gave her a rather indignant look before letting the little girl grab her around the middle and try to hold her. But the cat decided she liked this particular newcomer; she smelled like her master, her hair, and eyes were the same as his, and her voice was like his), and know the difference between the three.

And, for a short ways, at any rate, she could walk on her own. Her steps were unsure, and halting, and Erik or Christine always had to be close by, but she could do it.

That was when Erik placed the string of bells over Arabelle's cradle. He made a small version of a xylophone, too, and together, he and Christine would listen as first the melodies were absent, and the tinkling entirely random and toneless, but eventually became rhythms, and noticeable tunes (in fact, the first thing she managed to play on the little string of bells was the wordless lullaby her father always hummed).

Erik had been amazed, to say the least, the first time she started the tune.

He'd been sitting in the chair by the fire, reading a book. Arabelle was on the floor, playing with the little xylophone her doting father had made for her. This was in the middle of June, and the air was warm, and humid.

Everyone felt the heat, and even the normally chipper Christine had become subdued, and almost cranky - which did nothing for Erik's currently sulky state (Christine had snapped at him earlier about it being too hot when he went to hug her).

The only one who didn't seem to mind was little Arabelle. But then, Erik reasoned, she was on the floor, and he knew hot air rose, so she was probably feeling a bit cooler than everyone else.

There was, at first, no pattern to the notes she struck on the small instrument, just notes at random. Then Erik began to realize that she repeated some, and as he listened, he picked out the tune of her lullaby.

He listened, silent, and stunned for a moment, before calling softly for Christine. Not wanting to disturb Arabelle, and stop her playing, he stood slowly and left the room to find his wife.

"You must hear her, Christine!" he'd said excitedly, tugging gently on her arm. "I knew she would show interest in music!"

At the time, Christine thought his eyes shone a bit too brightly, and that he was a bit too happy for such a hot day, but her annoyance faded like snow in spring when she heard the soft tune Arabelle was playing.

"That's the lullaby!" she gasped quietly. "You were right, my love." She turned to look up at Erik, and smiled apologetically. "And I'm sorry I snapped at you. It was just so hot. I love you, Erik."

Gently, Christine lay her head against Erik's chest, loving the feeling of the soft, cool silk against her skin. Erik's arms came slowly to rest around her waist, and he rested his chin on her curls as he watched Arabelle play the tune that he used to put her to sleep.

"I love you, too, my sweet Christine," Erik replied, kissing her forehead. "All is forgiven, my dearest love."

Christine smiled, and pulled back (it really was a bit too humid for much physical contact).

"Erik," she said softly. "When we go home, to Paris, can we all go to the Bois? The three of us?"

Erik beamed, and took her face gently in his hand, kissing her tenderly.

"As often as you wish it, love," he promised, pushing back one of her dark curls.

"How soon can we go home?"

Erik smiled again.

"As soon as you wish, _mon amour. _Though, truth be told, for me, home is anywhere you and Arabelle are."

Christine smiled at him, and went over to where Arabelle sat on the floor. Taking her in her arms, Christine turned to look at Erik.

"Can we go to the park, Erik?" she asked eagerly. "Please?"

Erik hesitated. Yes, he had a job, but he only suffered through it for Christine and Arabelle. And he still didn't like having to go out. People stared, and whispered. And the only reason the wild plots to unmask him at work didn't go through was because the men were too frightened of his temper. One person had tried it, and they no longer worked there. In fact, while he regretted immensely having frightened the man so much, Erik was fairly sure the poor man was more adverse to going outside in daylight than he was.

But Christine wanted to go. Even in the wet heat of summer, when his mood was low, and he had a bit of a headache, he could not stand up against that soft glimmer in her eyes. So long as he had her and Arabelle with him, everything would be alright.

"Alright, Christine," he said, forcing down the uncomfortable feeling that this was not going to go as smoothly as he hoped. He wrapped an arm around her waist, put on his fedora, and led her out of the apartment, locking the door behind him, and pocketing the key.

Once out in the direct sunlight, Erik swallowed hard, and pushed back all his old habits and instincts with practiced efficiency. He was still edgy out in the open, but he was getting better about it.

The sun was bright, and warm, and there were quite a few people out today. Erik cringed. He hated crowds. People would stare, and talk, like they always did, no matter where he went.

Down the street they wandered. It was cooler outside than it was in their apartment, and there was soft shade at the park where they could sit beneath a tree with their daughter, and watch the world pass by.

Arabelle rested in her mother's arms, looking around at everything in amazement. Her yellow eyes were wide as she looked around London from the safety of her parent's hold. After a time, she grew more bold, and would squirm at times.

"Down?" she asked, looking from her mother to her father, and pointing at the ground.

Christine smiled, and set her on the ground between herself and Erik. Erik took one hand, and Christine took the other, and together, all smiles, and silent happiness, they walked along down the road.

Erik could see the people staring and whispering, and when someone pointed to Arabelle, with her obviously different eyes, and muttered behind their hand to a companion before casting the little family a disdainful look, Erik snarled, low and deep in the back of his throat, eyes narrowed to slits behind the mask as the hand not holding his daughter's curled into a white-knuckled fist.

"Erik," Christine breathed, hoping to calm him down. He was angry, very angry, and that, coupled with the heat, would not be good for his health.

She worried about him, hoping he wouldn't remain too upset for too long. He didn't need to have an attack now. Christine didn't want him to feel that pain. Not here, not now. Perferably not ever again, but that was something she could not control.

Erik closed his eyes for a moment, frowning as he tried to bring the anger he felt rising in him back down. It wasn't important. They would likely never see the couple again.

"Bad," Arabelle whispered, watching the couple walk away. "Uh! Up, Papa!" she cried, reaching up her hands for Erik to take her.

That made the last of Erik's anger dissipate. Arabelle could calm him like not even Christine could. Because Arabelle was literally a part of him. She was his _child. His _flesh and blood.

Obliging his dear little girl, Erik swept her up into his arms, and held her close, smiling, and kissing her cheek. The little girl was only eight months old, and already she could speak, and she had begun to memorize the tune of her lullaby on the xylophone. The bells over her crib had been replaced with a mobile of clouds and stars that played music. She could walk, albeit ungainly, with, or without her parents' aide. In short, she was everything Erik had prayed for, when he'd worried about Christine's condition late at night during her pregnancy.

Arabelle rested her head against Erik's shoulder, her little hands clutching the fabric of his shirt over his shoulders. She closed her eyes trustingly, and smiled as only an innocent little baby can.

"Papa," she sighed, nuzzling Erik's neck.

Erik sighed, and kissed her head. Even though his daughter's weight in his arms calmed him, his core still burned with indignant fury at the nerve of anyone who would dare to whisper about the ones he cared for. Whispers and looks, he knew, led to open taunting, and abuse. Erik swore he would never let his darling wife and child come to such ends..

Christine could sense the tension still inside him, and she could completely understand. She herself was outraged that people could be so cruel, whispering and staring pointedly at Erik and Arabelle. They were unique, not freaks.

"The park isn't far, Erik, love," Christine comforted, touching his shoulder gently.

Erik smiled faintly, adjusting Arabelle in his arms.

"I'm all right, my dearest," he assured her. "It just upset me. People can talk about _me _all they want. But you and Arabelle..." He shook his head, and stroked Arabelle's short curls to keep calm.

He didn't want to be out here, but he would try to enjoy it. Because he loved Christine, and he loved Arabelle. They were his family, and he would do anything to ensure their happiness.

And he only had to hold on a little while, and they would be in the park. Then he and Christine could sit with Arabelle beneath a tree, and watch the world pass them by as Arabelle did something cute, that only she would think of. Erik knew that would happen. She'd do, or say something endearing, and adorable, and any discomfort he felt being out in the sights of men would fade.

Christine breathed deep, loving the outside air. They'd stayed inside mostly, since Arabelle's birth, taking care of her and each other. Now, she was happy to get out for more than a few minutes.

But Erik wasn't. She could see it in his eyes. But he was trying, that much was obvious. And she had to give him credit. He'd held his tongue when that couple started whispering about them, and he hadn't once lashed out at anyone for double-taking at the sight of his mask. Perhaps having Arabelle around really _would _help his health...

It kept the peace, at least.

XxX  
Wow, these chapters get long fast. Anyway, I hope you liked it, and review, please!


	17. Parks and Birthdays

Parks and Birthdays  
XxX

When they reached the park, Erik glanced around for any spot that looked mostly abandoned, and sheltered. There was a large willow tree, with branches that just brushed over the ground not far from where they were standing.

_Perfect._

Erik sighed as he sat down, and leaned back against the tree's thick trunk. He set Arabelle down beside him, and let her totter around. He knew she wouldn't go far.

Christine smiled, and leaned against Erik's shoulder, nudging his neck with her head, and wrapping her arms around his left one.

Flushed slightly over her boldness, Erik turned his head, and kissed her brown curls.

"I love you, Christine," he whispered into her hair. "_Mon belle cherie."_

Christine looked into his eyes, and returned the fond, loving smile that sat on his lips.

"And I you, _mon precioux Ange de la Musique," _she replied. "We are never going to see that couple again, love." Her voice was soft as she stroked his hair, tied tightly in the short ponytail she was so used to seeing him wear.

Erik sighed.

"I know, Christine, I know," he muttered, frowning behind the mask. "But.... They were talking about _you, _and _Arabelle! _It wouldn't have mattered if their whispers remained about me, but I don't want your reputation ruined because your husband is a masked _freak!"_

"Erik," Christine said gently, cupping his face in her hands, wishing she could see his face rather than the cold mask. "That is hardly true. You are not a 'freak,' my love. You are my husband, the father of our child.

"Did you know, even in the beginning, your mask unnerved me more than what lay beneath it? I admit I was shocked the first time, and God knows how _sorry_ I still am for what I did to you, what I caused! But the mask was emotionless, so disconcerting. Even when your eyes smiled, I could not see that precious grin on your face." She gently ran her hands over his forehead, and up to his hair, smoothing the tied-back strands lovingly.

"You have always held my heart, Erik," she whispered. "My devotion and loyalty is to you, and our family."

A gentle kiss cut off any potentially self-degrading remark Erik might have made, and ended that direction of conversation.

Erik looked around, and found that Arabelle had taken interest in a little butterfly. She was crouched on the ground, watching it with fascination.

The little girl turned to look at her father.

"Ahsat?" she asked, pointing to the little creature in front of her.

Sometimes, she was still hard to understand, but Erik was still amazed at her swiftly growing powers of speech. And her voice. It had that strange, alluring note that could bend almost anyone to its will. He recognized it well. It was the same ability he had.

"That, my little one," Erik explained softly, "is a butterfly. They are very fragile, Arabelle." Erik held out a finger, and the stayed absolutely still. After a moment, the butterfly flew hesitantly closer, and eventually landed lightly on his hand.

Arabelle carefully reached out for the little thing, but Erik caught her wrist, being careful to keep his movements from startling the butterfly.

"You must not touch it, darling," he warned. "They can be hurt so very easily. You wouldn't want to break it's wing, would you?"

Arabelle's eyes widened.

"Huwit?" she gasped quietly.

"You could," Erik explained. "So long as you do not try to grab one, though, it will be fine."

The butterfly chose that moment to take to the air, and Arabelle watched with wonder as it's wings carried it away.

"I fy!" she cried, jumping up and flapping her short arms over and over.

With a look of deep concentration on her face, Arabelle continued to pump her arms, longing to join the little butterfly in flight. And suddenly, she felt herself rising, and a deep chuckle sounded behind her.

Squirming, Arabelle managed to turn around, and found herself looking into her father's eyes.

Erik's eyes shone as he lifted Arabelle slowly off the ground, letting her have for the moment the illusion that her efforts had paid off. At eight months old, she was smart enough that the moment would not last long, and she would figure it out.

Beaming, Arabelle gasped, and threw her short arms halfway around Erik's thin neck, laughing in her infant's voice.

Erik pressed his head against her dark head, and closed his eyes. _God, _he loved her. His baby.

She was everything he'd never dared to hope for. Arabelle was musical, smart, kind, everything he'd prayed for while Christine was carrying her.

Erik hadn't noticed, because he was too wrapped up in little Arabelle, but Christine saw it. A shaft of sunlight managed to split the shadow of the willow branches, and caught Erik in it's light. Her dear and precious, precocious husband.

Though he was open and loving with her and Arabelle, Erik was still guarded and very reticent out in the open. Even groups as small as their friends made him slightly nervous (of course, it probably didn't help that Raoul was usually in said group, as Erik had never completely gotten over his old dislike of the viscount).

Christine sighed. Paris was a place with many memories, not all of them the best. And it was a place where they would always have to be careful. Arabelle would never be allowed to tell anyone about her papa. Christine would always be living in dread of the day when gendarmes would storm in and arrest Erik for what he'd done.

"Erik?" she called softly, bringing her husband's attention back to her.

Erik tilted his head to the side, eyes telling her to proceed.

"I don't know if we _should _go back to Paris," Christine whispered.

"Why the sudden change of heart, my darling?" Erik asked, sounding surprised.

Christine sighed.

"I know it's sudden, but I never really thought of it before. Oh Erik, I'd never know a moment's peace in Paris! What if someone found you? They'd have you arrested for certain. If we went where no one knew us, or had ever heard of the Phantom of the Opera, we could start over. Truly be ourselves!"

Erik looked at her for a long moment before releasing a breath.

"You're right," he said quietly, looking out at all the other families in the park. In Paris - anywhere in France, really - this could never happen. He would never go out in the daylight, and Christine would always have to lie about him, and who the father of the pale, gold-eyed child was.

Erik realized that he was sick and tired of hiding. He didn't want to fall back into his old habits, because he feared the loss of the closeness between himself and Christine if he did. He knew he would change. His personality would become brooding again, and he would keep secrets once more, thinking that Christine couldn't possibly understand, because she was of the light and he was of the darkness.

He didn't want to be of the darkness anymore. Never did, at heart, he just never admitted it. He liked trying to fit in in Christine's world. It was pretty here, even with the snide whispers, and cruel stares. And no one bothered him unless he was alone.

"Yes," Erik said after a while. "We'll go away someplace. America might be a good bet, love. At least there, our pasts could hardly catch us up."

At that moment, Arabelle dropped herself down into Erik's lap and smiled up at him.

"Papa!" she giggled, snuggling her head into his stomach, and curling into a ball. Her tiny eyes closed, and her breathing slowed as she leaned against him in complete trust.

Erik's heart melted yet again. It seemed to do that a lot lately. A small smile spread over his face, and he stroked his daughter's short curls lovingly.

_I'll never get over this, _he thought. _It's just such a miracle._

Christine smiled, and leaned her head against Erik's shoulder, smiling down at Arabelle.

Erik wrapped an arm around Christine, and rested his cheek against her curls. They might as well enjoy a nap, too.

The sun was starting to set when Erik woke up.

Opening his eyes, Erik looked down at his wife and daughter.

"Christine," he called softly. "Christine, love, wake up."

Christine stirred in his arms, and looked up into Erik's yellow eyes, a smile spreading across her face.

"Why?" she asked, sounding content and sleepy as she lowered her head back to his shoulder.

"Christine, the sun is setting," Erik told her. "We must go home."

Christine groaned in mild annoyance at having to leave the comfortable pillow that was Erik's small shoulder, but got up anyway, taking Arabelle so that Erik could stand.

When he was on his feet, Erik reached for their daughter and took her in his arms, kissing her temple, and holding her close. Arabelle still slept, and he had no intentions of waking her.

The streets were far less crowded now, the citizens of London having returned to their homes for dinner and bed. No doubt Nadir and the others would be wondering why Erik and his family were not at home.

Erik had to smile. Life above ground, on _this _side of the edge, was beautiful. He had learned eight wonderfully long months ago not to trust the Master. No, he lied. Death was no master of Erik's. Not anymore.

Because Death had promised him an escape from his life, one that would never have lead to this; this total, all-encompassing _bliss. _Never was he unhappy when he was with Christine and Arabelle, not truly. Oh, there might be moments, but those were so few he wasn't sure that he hadn't imagined them.

Sometimes he wondered whether he _had _died that night, and by some remarkable chance, he'd made it to heaven, and this life was his reward. No, no, nothing was real in heaven. If this was happening to his spirit, it was a cruel illusion of Hell, showing him what he could have had in life, but was not - and never - meant to be.

And yet, that couldn't be the case. The illusion did not shatter the moment he figured out the deception, Christine and Arabelle did not vanish, and he was left with the only logical end that this was truly real. He really was a father. He really had a loving wife who would sacrifice a life of comfort with a young, wealthy, _handsome_ man who could give her the world for an aging, _ugly_ male who could not give her much more than love and music. In fact, he still found it quite incredible he'd been able to give her a child, let alone one so wonderful.

"What are you thinking about?" Christine asked quietly, mindful of Arabelle, sleeping peacefully in her father's arms.

"You," he replied. "And how incredibly _enjoyable _you've made my life since I met you."

Erik stopped and looked down at her steadily.

"If it weren't for you, Christine Destler, my dearest wife, and treasured friend and angel, I know I would have died by now."

Christine blushed brightly in the twilight.

"Erik," she whispered, flattered by his words.

Erik beamed at her, leaning down and kissing her softly.

"I love you Christine," he told her softly as they stood in the circle of light cast by a streetlamp. "Always."

"And I you, Erik," Christine replied just as quietly. "Forever."

Erik smiled again, and they continued walking.

"I think Arabelle enjoyed the park today," he said lightly, looking from Arabelle to Christine and back. "Did you see that lovely butterfly, Christine?"

"You mean the pretty blue one Arabelle was so taken with?" Christine laughed lightly, looking up at her husband. "Yes. It was absolutely beautiful."

Erik nodded, and produced a brooch from a pocket in the shape of said butterfly.

"Happy birthday," he whispered.

Christine gasped, taking the jeweled brooch from Erik's outstretched palm with shaking hands.

"It's beautiful," she breathed. "I'd completely forgotten my birthday was today. Well, this is _wonderful, _Erik!"

Standing on her tiptoes, Christine gently pressed her lips to Erik's, carefully sliding off the mask.

"No one is here to see you, my love," she whispered gently, smiling encouragingly.

Erik tentatively returned the smile, rather uncomfortable at being without his mask in the open, but he trusted Christine, and there really was no one in sight. Home was not far away, either. A few minutes outside without his mask couldn't hurt.

"So you want to go to America," he said after a moment's silence.

Christine nodded.

"We'd be completely safe there, Erik," she told him. "No one would know us. There would never be any policemen storming into our house to take you away. We would be _free, _love. _Free. _We could escape the dark past, and move on!"

Erik noted the irony in this particular situation and had to fight to keep from snorting at it. The viscount had used similar words to try and dissuade Christine from his side, now here she was, telling _him _that she thought they should go away, where no one would know them, where they could _begin again...._

How many times had he heard those words? Countless. And every time they were about him. This was the only time he'd ever been glad to hear that phrase.

"You're right, of course," he said quietly, smiling. "We could really _live _if we left. We could just _disappear _with the first thaws of spring. Of course, we'd have to go back to the opera house for a few things, but then we would vanish forever from the eyes of those who would separate us.

"Christine, dear, do you remember when I said your life was like an opera? I am so very sorry for being so angry with you, then, but it almost is true. And I find I much prefer this little twist you and I have created, don't you, darling?"

Christine smirked.

"Do you, Phantom?" she asked, voice dropped, eyes narrowed almost seductively. "So that's it then?" she laughed. "You wanted a family, and so you chose me to do it, hm?"

"Exactly," Erik replied rakishly. "I wanted a family, and who better than the girl who's heart was already mine?"

Laughing, he placed a light kiss on her lips, and told her again that he loved her. Christine smiled, and returned the sentiment, so happy.

It had been a good day, truly. The park had to have been the best idea ever. And she knew it had helped Erik's hesitancy in going outside unless he had to. And to top it all off, Erik had managed to remember her birthday, even when _she _couldn't.

She really had made the right choice when she chose to stay with him, all those months ago, and she would forever be glad that she had.

XxX  
Another chapter! I hope it was good for you guys. Review please!

Hooray for playful!Erik! Playful!Erik makes me happy. *grinns


	18. Saying Goodbye

WARNING: Sadness involving the lair.

Say Farewell  
XxX

So many memories flooded Erik's mind as he rowed across the lake beneath the Paris opera house.

It had been three weeks since they'd left London. They'd gotten to Paris early that morning, and had set straight out for the opera, and Erik's old home.

An assault of memories came hurling at him, and he found himself unable to think of the present, remembering everything in the past.

He remembered coming down here for the first time, bringing Ayesha, and later Christine, down to this place. The weekly meetings he and Nadir would keep...

It was no longer as comforting, this darkness. He'd been too long in the world of light and love to feel at peace here. Where once he would have reflected on the macabre beauty of the blackness of the lake, all he could think of was how dangerous it could be, if Christine or Arabelle should fall in.

He remembered the times he'd met Nadir down here, and he remembered, with painful guilt, how he'd lead Nadir and the boy nearly to their deaths. He'd have to disarm the torture chamber now. Dear God, why hadn't he thought of that before they'd gone to England? What if some poor soul had somehow been trapped inside? All these months; dead, and rotting...

Well, at least now he knew what had told him they had to come back here just one last time before going to America.

A tiny splash made him jump and swing around, terrified as thoughts of all the potential, horrible, reasons for that splash crossed his mind.

Christine was holding tightly to Arabelle, who splashed her small hand through the water, smiling and laughing.

"Keep her away from the edge," Erik warned quietly, voice strained and urgent, a haunted look in his eyes.

"Erik?" Christine asked, wondering what was wrong with him. "Are you all right?"

Erik nodded slowly, and turned back to rowing the small boat across the dark waters.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "It's just memories."

What had once been his only refuge now made him endlessly uncomfortable. Who knew if they were alone down here? Would he have to fight to defend his family?

The boat hit against the shore, and he tied it off, stepping out and helping Christine out.

Erik left Arabelle with her mother, moving forward through the gloom (Perhaps he was worried because his eyes were no long as strong in the dark as they used to be - a result of rarely being up and about in the dead of night in a dark place for the past sixteen months) toward the door. He felt around the stone, and when his hands found the hidden door, it swung open stiffly after months of disuse.

Erik swore when he saw the inside of his home. It had been destroyed more so than when he had torn it apart in despairing rage over a year ago. Christine had helped him repair it all, and now, it was ruined again.

The few lamps and candles in the sitting room were shattered and broken, the furniture splintered and cracked, thrown aside like unimportant garbage.

Kneeling, Erik picked up a music box he had bought in Persia. It was supposed to be a monkey, sitting on a pillow. The cymbal on it's left paw was missing, as was the entire right arm, and it's left foot. The right ear was broken off, too, and when he wound it, it rasped a few feeble notes before falling silent.

Priceless, irreplaceable mementos of his past had been destroyed, and it hurt. He was no longer comfortable here in this darkness, that was true, but once upon a time, this had been his home.

A vase from India lay in pieces in one corner. In another, a broken statue of a Chinese dragon. Several books lay scattered and torn in front of the bookshelves.

The bench in front of the piano was broken in half, and lay crushed on the floor. The keyboard was wrecked, keys smashed and missing.

With a disbelieving shake of his head, Erik turned to his old room, dreading what he would find.

The organ was in pieces. One twisted pipe lay in the middle of the room, next to his coffin, which had been hacked at with something very sharp, the lining ripped almost to shreds.

Broken glass, and bits of wire from his inventions, covered the floor, and crunched under his feet as he walked through the destruction of a place that had once been his only refuge.

Reaching the desk in the corner, he pulled out a drawer, and removed the back compartment where he'd placed his reserves of money. It was there.

But that did not help his mood much, as he looked around his room. This had once been home. This was where Ayesha had done the sweetest things, where she'd first laid on his chest during a rare night of sleep. This was where Christine had returned as he lay dying, and saved him with the confession of her tender love, always and only for him. This was where their daughter had been conceived. This was where his life had become a miracle that daily, he feared he would wake up from only to find it had all been just a dream.

Almost stumbling out of the room, Erik went back to Christine. She wasn't in the sitting room, and for a moment, he panicked. He checked the kitchen and the library, and finally found her in her room, holding Arabelle, and gazing sadly at the ruins of her wedding dress, the one Erik had convinced her to wear that night she'd sun Aida for her lesson.

The dress had been slashed and torn, almost beyond recognition. The over-skirt hung on by only a few stitches, hanging nearly to the floor.

But beyond that was what really caught Erik's attention.

Written on the wall, in what, on closer inspection, turned out to be his pricey red ink, was a very clear message; 'I wish it could have been more, Monster. Your life for my brother's.'

Erik snarled, barely containing the curse that threatened to escape (he couldn't swear around Christine and Arabelle. While she was only ten months old, Arabelle was very smart, and surely Christine would never forgive him for it).

"It seems the viscount's brother needs informing of current events," he growled glaring at the red writing.

Turning, he stalked back to his room to disarm the torture chamber.

Christine watched him go, and saw all the signs of his sadness, hidden behind the front of anger. He could never hide the truth from her. She knew how much this hurt him.

"Oh, Raoul," she groaned, realizing now that her dear friend had failed to tell his protective, doting older brother that he was leaving for England. Why he had neglected to tell Philippe, Christine would never understand.

But that wasn't so important right now. Erik was. Too much of this, and he could have one of his attacks. With the hawthorn tablets, they had become almost nonexistent, but Christine didn't know when they might come again. A minor one had hit him on the crossing from England, and he'd had to stay in bed for the next two days (Instead of crossing the channel to Calais, and then returning to Paris by land, they took the shorter, more direct sea-route in the interest of speed).

She found him in his room, and as she entered, saw him punch the wall as hard as he could, noticing when he did not, the drops of blood that beaded on his knuckles.

"Erik," she called softly, walking forward, and placing a hand on his shoulder.

There was outright fury in his eyes when she first saw them, but soon it vanished to sadness.

Christine could see in his eyes the loss. This place had been his world, once, and now it was destroyed beyond saving. Even the things in her room were too damaged.

Knowing it would make him feel better, Christine pressed Arabelle into his arms. The little girl looked around at the destruction nervously from where she clung to her father's neck.

"Bad, Papa," she whispered. "Sad."

Erik sighed.

"You're right, my darling. Come, Christine. We must leave."

Christine nodded, and followed Erik out of the building.

None of them said anything as the boat traveled back across the water, Erik rowing steadily, despite the blood dripping from his left hand. Only once they were safely in the small hotel room Erik had rented for them until their ship to America sailed in three days did either speak.

"I'm sorry, Erik," Christine said softly as she wrapped his injured hand. "I know your home meant a lot to you."

Erik laughed wryly, and smiled slightly at Christine.

"It doesn't matter at all compared to your safety, my sweet Christine," he said softly, kissing her.

Christine smiled up at Erik, her arms around his neck. She looked toward the bed to where Arabelle slept, curled into a ball, arms wrapped loosly around Ayesha.

Erik noticed her gaze, and followed it, heart warming.

"Three days, love," Christine whispered. "Three days, and we might not see this place ever again."

Erik laughed lightly.

"Oddly enough, I'm a bit glad for that, my dear."

XxX

Three days later, Erik stood with Christine, Arabelle in his arms, their bags beside them, staring up at the great wooden ship that waited in the harbor.

Eyes wide, Arabelle tapped Erik's shoulder, and pointed at the ship.

"Big," she breathed.

"It is, isn't it, darling?" Erik agreed, smiling slightly, and kissing Arabelle's cheek. Turning to Christine, he offered an arm as one of the sailors took their bags to their room. "Shall we go?"

Christine nodded, smiling a little nervously, and took Erik's offered han, starting up the plank with him. She'd said goodbye to Meg and Madame Giry, and Raoul back when they'd left London, and there was nothing now to hold them back.

A shout from behind caused both to turn.

"Erik!" a voice called out. "Erik, wait! Wait!"

Through the crowds on the docks came Nadir, a bag on one arm, other hand waving.

"Nadir?" Erik's eyes were wide and confused as his old friend slowed to a stop beside them.

"You didn't think you could escape me so easily, did you?" Nadir asked. "Someone has to keep an eye on you."

Erik laughed and rolled his eyes.

"Thirty-five years, and still my conscience," he sighed, smiling. "It's good to have you coming with us, my friend."

Nadir returned Erik's smile, and together, they all made their way up the plank and onto the ship.

"Nadir," Christine asked as they walked down the hall to their rooms - right next to each other's coincidentally, "where is Darius? I thought he'd be with you."

Nadir shook his head.

"It was time for him to return home," he said softly. "Back to Persia, and hopefully, his wife. I'll miss him, but I highly doubt I would last long in that country anymore."

Erik felt guilty. It was because of him that Nadir had been exiled from his homeland. It was because of him Nadir's only son - only child - had been dead for over thirty years. It was because of him that his best friend - next to Christine, now - had lived in poverty while in Paris, when compared to his home in the Persian Empire.

Once everything was set, Christine, Erik, and Nadir went back up on deck to see Paris one last time.

In the distance, Erik's eyes picked out the top of the opera house, and he felt a little bit of sadness, knowing he would most likely never again see his crowning architectural achievement.

All his life, it seemed, had led to this. He realized now, that everything that had ever happened to him, had been for a reason. Running away from his mother's. The gypsies. Giovanni, and Luciana. Russia. Persia. Building the Paris opera house. It had all led to here. Without even one of the past events of his life, he might never have met Christine, might never have had Arabelle, and known the happiness of their love for him. He would always be home, as long as he had his family at his side.

Christine could see the conservatoiree off in the distance, and she smiled wryly. If it hadn't been for that place, she never would have met Meg. And if she'd never met Meg, she wouldn't have sung that day, thus, never meeting Erik. She would have lived a predictable life. Raoul certainly wouldn't have found her. No one would have known she was even there. Everything she had, she owed to Meg, and the dancing school. It had set her on the path that led her straight to Erik's open arms. No matter where she went, she would always be safe, so long as her love was with her.

Nadir couldn't see his old apartment from where he stood, but he knew it was there, just beyond the tall buildings. Ten years, he'd lived there. Now, he was leaving. So much had happened here in Paris. He'd finally found Erik again after twenty five years. His friend had found, lost, then found again the love of his life, and then had a child. True, he was losing Darius, but who was to say it was forever? Surely, if they did not meet again in this life, they would meet in heaven, where he would see Reza again.

_Goodbye, my one-time tomb. __And good riddance__ Carlotta!_

_Goodbye, Meg, and my old home. _

_Goodbye, Darius, servant, and friend. May Allah protect you the remainder of your life._

"Ah!" Arabelle called. "Bye-bye city!"

Erik smiled, and kissed her black hair.

XxX  
End of story. Sequel will be begun soon, I promise. I hope you guys liked this.


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